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KING STEPHEN, 

OF HUNGARY. 



KING STEPHEN, 



OF HUNGAKY ; 



A DRAMA, 



In fitre $tt$. 



A SCENE-SHIFTER 



LONDON: T. C. NEWBY, 
30, WELBECK STEEET, CAVENDISH SQUAEE. 

1859. 




W. AND J. MC MICKEN, 

General Printers, 

19, FENCHURCH-ST, LONDON. 



3 



1 



*»• 



PREFACE. 



The following pages were written under circumstances 
which precluded all access to any of the great historical 
works on Hungary; a fact which the Author trusts he 
may be allowed to advance in extenuation of such errors 
and faults as criticism may discover, and which, if not 
admitted, still remains a fact. 

It will scarcely be necessary to remark that most of the 
characters are merely myths. This may be considered a 
great liberty to take with history; but the Author, not 
possessing the ability of Shakspere to reproduce defunct 
heroes, statesmen, and beauties, was obliged to surround 
his real personages with fictitious auxiliaries. Without 
such help it is more than probable that his task would 
never have been brought to a conclusion, and the world 
would have remained ignorant of the genius he is about 
to reveal. 

Not having any literary friend to whom the MS. could 
be submitted for perusal, and being rather confused in his 
reminiscences of a very desultory course of reading, the 
Author is afraid he may now and then have pilfered and 
served up anew sundry thoughts and words belonging to 



f 



IV PREFACE 

other people. In this dilemma, he pleads guilty in 
advance, and hopes that his apology, being made before- 
hand, will have the greater weight. 

Finally, the Author being of a very modest and nervous 
temperament, respectfully deprecates all unnecessary cen- 
sure at the hands of that eminent body of citizens, the 
critics. Not being at feud with them, for the simple 
reason that they are not aware of his existence, he trusts 
they will graciously bear in mind his peculiar psychical 
tendencies. Strong-minded individuals who may disregard 
this hint, are hereby warned that the Author has made his 
will, with express injunctions that all persons who may be 
concerned in bringing him, like the lamented Keats, to an 
untimely grave, shall be prosecuted for manslaughter, or 
assault with intent to kill. On the contrary, should he 
survive, all those who manifest a disposition to foster rising 
merit, will be duly extolled in any future productions of 
his pen. 

Thalia Cottage, Melpomene Road, 
December, 1858. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Stephen* King of Hungary. 

Emeeic Sis Son, in love, under the name of Geyza, 

with Geraldine. 

Vazul Cousin to King Stephen. 

Andbeas ) 

^ f Sons of King Stephen's Cousin. 

Eenest A Courtier in league with Bertha against 

King Stephen. 
Count Esteehazt. 
Count Batthtany. 
Elisha 



} 



_ Two Jews. 
Aaeon 

Geevais A Monk. 

Zadig A Magician. 

The Peimate ; A Legate eeom Pope John ; Oeeicees, 

Guaeds, Pages, Peiests, &c. 



WOMEN. 
Peinoess Beetha...-4 relative of Kupan, the head of the old 
Magyar party. 

Gebaldine Her Daughter. 

Ildegonde Tutress to Geraldine. 

Geeteude A Bohemian Girl. 



The Scenes are principally laid at Gran. Time, early part of the 
Meventh Century. 




KING' STEPHEN, 

OF HUNGARY; 

A D K A M A, 

IN EI7E ACTS. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

COURT- YARD OF THE ROYAL PALACE AT' GRAN, BENEATH PRINCE 
EMERIC'S WINDOW. ENTER EOUR EORESTERS. 

First Forester Sings. 

1 

Away to the glades where the red-deer are lying 

On the sweet-scented bracken beneath the green boughs, 

Whither huntsman and dun-hound are merrily hieing, 
The fleet-footed stag from his slumbers to rouse. 

CHORUS. 

Then haste thee, sir knight, leave the dame in her bower ; 

Leave books to the schoolman and toil to the slave ; 
And away to the chase ere fleets the brief hour, 

Its wild joys to share and its dangers to brave. 

B 



g KING STEPHEN 

2 
Amidst the green sprays the lithe squirrel is bounding, 

And the soft breeze the lark's carol through ether doth bear ; 
Around the dense covert the glad horn is sounding, 

And the hawthorn's sweet blossom perfumes the cool air. 

Choeus, — Then haste thee, sir knight, &c. 

3 

The blithe birds the first joys of summer are tasting, 
And their melody cheers e'en the deep woodland gloom. 

"While o'er the brown heather the wild bee is hasting, 
To the bank where the primrose and violet bloom. 

Choeus, — Then haste thee, sir knight, &c. 

ENTEE PEINCE EMEEIC. 

P. Emeeic. — Thanks, friends, for your music ; 'tis well 
chosen, but I pray you to hold me excused if I go not forth to 
the chase to-day. 

Fiest Foeestee. — Pardon a servant's intrusion, sir ; but 
is your highness ill at ease in mind or body ? 

P. Emeeic. — Not so well as I might be in either, and yet 
not so ill as to need my physician ; but it must suffice thee 
that I care not for the chase to day. 

Fiest Foeestee. — Then your highness will miss good 
sport. 'Tis a sweet dewy morning, and the scent will lie 
right well. Our youths have found the slot of a fine old buck, 
and marked where he hath fretted the oak. 

Second Foeestee. — Or would it please you better, sir, 
that we took the falcons ? We shall of a surety soon find a 
crane or a heron, and Starolta would stoop bravely to-day ; 
she hath been well bathed and oiled, and hath had saffron. 

P. Emeeic. — Nay, friend, I know thy care, and doubt not 



OF HUNGARY. 



that thy pet never was in better condition ; but thou must fly 
her alone to-day while I play the sluggard. 

First Forester. — Your royal sire, prince, ever loved the 
chase, and at your years would have left the brighest eyes and 
the best book for a run after the hart. He always said that, 
next to war, 'twas the best school for making soldiers ; and 
that he who would be lithe of body, clear of head, and strong 
i* the arm, should learn the trade while he was young. 

P. Emeric. — Aye, Hubert, but thou knowest my father, 
like my grandsire, Geyza, was ever more of a soldier than I 
am. But take comfort ; another day I promise to hunt with 
thee as long as horse and hound will hold out. 

First Forester. — Nay, your highness, 'tis not for a serving 
man to parry and thrust at words with his master's son. 
Farewell, sir (kneels and kisses JBrince JEmeric's hand). Come, 
men, let's forth while the dew lies (the foresters kneel and 
exeunt). 

P. Emeric. — (Solus) 'Twas well ye went, or ye might have 
noted more than I liked. He that loves, must be alone, or 
herd only with some fool cursed like himself. Cursed, did I 
say, as if the worst word man's wit ever forged were fit to 
image pangs which even lost souls are spared. Oh, love ! 
thou direst plague ! Poets should have drawn thee with two 
faces, and one should have been the likeness of the prince of 
mischief; but I will know the end of these torments, whatever 
come of it (Exit). 



b a 



4 KING STEPHEN 

SCENE II. 

A ROOM IN THE ROYAL PALACE AT GRAN. ENTER KING 

STEPHEN, PRECEDED BY GUARDS, AND COUNT BATTHYANY 

FROM THE OTHER SIDE. 

K. Stephen. — Welcome, brave Batthyany, what answer 
from the Croat to our request ? 

C. Batthyany. — Your excellency, King Cresimir sent a 
soldier's answer. 

K. Stephen. — He will not give up the land ? 
C. Batthyany. — He will not. 
K. Stephen. — He gave no reason for refusing? 
C. Batthyany. — None, sire, save that it was his purpose, 
To keep by force what he had gained by — 
K. Stephen. — Fraud. 

'Twas right well spoken by the surly Croat ; 
A bull, a bear, a mastiff, 

Would use like terms, did he possess the knack 
To vent his sulkiness in human words. 
Such is the Croat, find him where, 
And call him what name he liketh best. 
A rude and treacherous friend, a churlish host ; 
Headier with a coarse gibe than a kind word. 
I trust he spoke thee fair, sir Count ? 
C. Batthyany. — Why, truly, sire, the king was somewhat 
rougher 
Than breeding warranted ; but then I deemed it only 
The honest bluntness of a hard-pressed soldier. 
K. Stephen. — Fie on the thought, Count. A soldier 
Is not a ruffian. 

He is but half a knight who acts the bully. 
The snarling cur that mangles each weaker rival 



OF HUNGARY. 

Is not more brave than is the gentle hound. 

"Well, we must tame this brute with steel and brand, 

In lack of gentler physic. 
C Batthyany. — Your excellency, then, is resolute 

To bring this question to a mortal issue, 

Even though the eastern frontier now is menaced. 
K. Stephen. — Yes, Count; 

Rather will honour yield up life and crown, 

Than wear a crown dishonoured by that life. 

But say, sir, how did the Croat army look ? 
C. Batthyany. — To tell the truth, sire, like a motley pack, 

As dirty as the ground they lie upon. 

Unkempt, half-starved, with rudely-fashioned weapons, 

And quaint strange dresses, all of rags and tawdry : 

A sullen, clamorous herd ; but chained to the yoke, 

By a discipline that takes no more account of blood, 

Than of the silent ground it falls upon. 
K. Stephen. — Then let me tell thee, these are the men to fear ; 

For they have neither plans, nor hopes, nor cares. 

A life scarce worth the having or the taking 

Is cheaply set against a lucky raid. 

Thou'llt see, 

They'll flock like starving vultures to the field. 
C. Batthyany, — Your excellency, these loose vagrants are 
not soldiers, 

They'll vanish as surely as the mist doth, 

Which may defy, but yields before the sun. 
K. Stephen. — Then be that sun, sweet count; melt them 
to dew ; 

Take with thee heat enough in shape of troops, 

But be a prudent husbandman ; beware 

Ye thaw not snow to a devouring flood ; 

Farewell, sir. My best hopes follow you. 



b KTNG STEPHEN 

C. Batthyany. — Adieu, sire {Kneels, kisses his hand, and 

leaves). 
K. Stephen. — (Alone). 

Unless I am most strangely cheated, thou wilt find 

The Croat fears not danger, toil, or war ; 

But I will give thee both fair play and favour. 

Titles and wealth await thee if successful ; 

Shame and disaster if thou playest the braggart ; 

Which Heaven avert ; 

And rather give to thee a soldier's grave, 

Or all the honours that befit the brave. (Exit.) 



SCENE III. 

A BOOM IN PRINCESS BEETHA's CASTLE AT GRAN. GERALDINE 
ALONE, EMBROIDERING. 

Enter a Female Servant. 

Servant. — Lady, her highness is coming to confer with 
you on urgent matters. 

Geraldine.— So be it, wench, Doth my mother think I 
am an officer of state that she needs ask leave to speak to me ? 
Enter Princess Bertha. 

P. Bertha. — Geraldine, I have much to say to thee. 
Maiden, leave us. (The girl leaves the room. Geraldine lays 
down her embroidery, and seats herself beside her mother.) 

Geraldine. — What is your wish, mother ? 

P. Bertha.— Thou knowest how long the feud hath been 
laid between the Christians and the old Maygars, ever 
since our brave cousin, Kupan, fell before Duke Stephen in 



OF HUNGARY. ( 

the bloody fight at Wesprim — thou hast heard me say how 
thy father on his death-bed bequeathed to thee a heritage of 
strife. Thou knowest this ? 

Geraldine. — Truly, mother , I ought to know it. {Aside, 
Now comes the story of the old fool who rode in armour to 
the Theiss, and wanted to be buried alive for the sake of dead 
gods.) 

Bertha. — I have sought to hoard up wealth, that we 
might one day lord it over these proud, wasteful Christian 
peers. 

Geraldine.- — Aye, mother, that I have not only known 
but felt. My childhood hath been a stern schooling against the 
weakness of the flesh, and art hath triumphed over nature. 

Bertha. — Eebuke me not, Geraldine; the hour which 
sets that straight is nigh. Andreas, son of the king's cousin, 
seeks the promise of thy hand, though he dare not as yet 
avow his purpose. But thou seemest little pleased at the 
thought of wedding this young chief. 

Geraldine. — As little as with wedding his uncle himself. 

Bertha. — Art thou possessed? Wilt thou always be 
trumpeting about the silly notion that thou canst love nothing 
in the shape of a man ? 

Geraldine. — Truly, madam, I never cared much for the 
animal, nor hath my training made me like him any the better. 
Whenever I hear a great, broad-shouldered lout talking of 
pangs and madness, I marvel why he suffers such torture 
when there's the Danube nigh at hand, deep and wide enough 
to soothe the sorrows of all the lovers that ever went crazed. 

Bertha. — Nay, if thou hast not a grain of love, thou hast 
thy full share of wit. Let there be a second duel and raid 
for thy hand, and Duke Stephen will make thee give it to 
whom he thinks fit. 

Geraldine. — So please you, mother, 'tis not my fault if 



8 KING STEPHEN 

these gentlemen should cut each other's throats, and burn 
each other in their castles, as boys burn a wasp's nest. 
Methinks the king rather owes me thanks for letting out a 
little hot blood in this way, and keeping these young brigands 
from robbing travellers, and doing mischief to honest men. 

Bertha. — 'Tis not a time to jest, Geraldine, nor a matter 
to jest about. If thou canst not love, try to learn the 
manner ; remember, I will not brook too much of thy froward 
humour. Farewell for a few hours, I have much to do. 

Geraldine. — Madam, I kiss your hand {Exit). 
Bertha. — {Alone.) 

But that I bore thee in these arms I'd say, 

Thy natal star rose in the sullen north ; 

For thou art colder than the warlike maids, 

Who dwell in their starved lands beneath the rule 

Of mighty Odin : but I will teach thee 

To demean thyself after another fashion. 

I cannot suffer that this wayward temper, 

For some wild freak should mar the toil of years. 

Exit. 



SCENE IV. 

A CHAMBER IN THE ROYAL PALACE AT GRAN. PRINCE EMERIC 
ALONE, WITH A BOOK IN HIS HAND. 

P. Emeric. — Farewell, ye dreams of beauty, wit, and valour, 
I own the bard no longer for a master ; 
The god of love hath ta'en the lists against ye, 
And with his tiny lance cast from the saddle 
The giant form of ancient chivalry. 
Men say true love and learning mate not well ; 



OF HUNGARY. 9 

Then take thy love sweet learning. 

{Throws the book away.) 

For I am love's weak captive. 

Enter King Stephen. 
K. Stephen. — Good morrow, my son, {hissing him.) 
P. Emeric. — {kneels and kisses K. Stephen's hand.) 

My service to you, father. 
K. Stephen. — Thy cheek is pale, my boy ; thou'rt but a lad, 

And yet thou'rt losing fast the joyous step, 

The rounded limb, the cheery voice, the bloom 

Of boyhood. 

Thou hast had too much of these old books and vigils ; 

And let me tell thee, — 

He that would love his books must sometimes leave them 

For horse and hound, or ball or feast, 

As epicures by fasting whet their appetites. 
P. Emeric. — My father, if thou hadst tasted of the weird joys 

That witch the student's spirit — hadst felt their mighty 
fetters, 

Which do constrain men more than thirst for gold and lands, 

Thou wouldst not marvel that I can forego 

For them the blithe chase or the tourney's strife. 
K. Stephen. — My son, forget not that thou art a prince, 

And not a poet. Thy study should be policy, and war, 
and history ; 

Thou hast to learn how to act as well as reason, 

No book-taught king could curb the haughty Maygars, 

And though thou think'st it not 

Yet there is as much that trains the soul to good 

In noble acts as all that books e'er taught. 

What were these poets did not warrior, king, and sage, 

Leave them a tale to tell ? 
P. Emeric. — My father, what were warrior, sage, or king, 



10 KING STEPHEN 

Without the bard had told their tale ? 
K. Stephen. — He that is truly good and noble need not reck 

What men say of him. He hath done that 

Which God appointed every man to do. 

But thou'rt a tender colt, and I'll not curb thee hard. 

Now tell me, Emeric, dost thou still love this maiden ; 

This daughter of the tameless race of Simegh ? 
P. Emeric. — Yea, father, more than books, or life, or crown 
K. Stephen — (Aside, The eagle should devour, not love th( 
viper.) 

Then, Emeric, if thou canst win her love, 

Her tears shall drown the last spark of hate 

Between her house and thine. This palace is her home ; 

Or if she like it better, Alba Regalis 

Shall rise in fairy beauty for her sake. 
P. Emeric. — Your blessing, sir, and thanks for more 

Than any son could ask a father (Kneels) . 
K. Stephen. — Bless thee, my son (Exit Prince Emeric). 

Alas ! I fear blessings will serve but little 

To guard thy youthful frame from strong-armed fate — 

For there is more in this than mere love-sickness — 

Thy pinched cheek hath on it the cast of death. 

At times thy step is like an aged man's, 

And thou art tired ere day hath well begun, 

And restless when mankind would seek their rest. 

Should heaven decree the worst, oh, may it spare 

At least my Gisela this woe to share ! 

Exit. 



OF HUNGARY. 11 



SCENE V. 

A EOOM IN PRINCESS BERTHA'S CASTLE AT GRAN. 
GERALDINE AND ILDEGONDE. 

Ildegonde. — So, lady Geraldine, you are to wed with the 
noble Andreas, and you love him, without a doubt. 

Geraldine. — I shall love him, dame, much as I do my 
pretty dog, Kalman, or my ger-falcon, Genseric, who hath 
such a beautiful dark eye and brown plume. 

Ildegonde. — But what have you to say against him lady ; 
Is he not a brave and likely knight ? 

Geraldine. — Yes, likely to go to sleep. He is well-nigh 
worse than my modest spark who comes a wooing me at night, 
and looks as if he -would die for want of mischief to keep his 
blood moving. A sweet-tempered youth, whose gall is 
turned to milk, and his fat to oil : a young sage with a visage 
as sad as the barbel we kept in the pond, who looked so like 
a rejected lover. 

Ildegonde. — Nay, lady, you do wrong to flout the youth. 
He is trimly dressed, and bears him like one of good blood. 

Geraldine. — Good, madam; his cloak is not so worn as 
that of a serving-man, nor his doublet so stained and greasy 
as a scholar's ; neither doth he use much oil on his head, and 
look bilious and forlorn, as a true poet should ; nor swear, 
brag, and lie, like a soldier. 

Ildegonde. — Why, truly, 'tis better you should not love 
him ; for your mother would never suffer you to wed less 
than a noble, and the young Geysa hath the honesty to say 
he is of a poor house. 

Geraldine. — Dost thou love me, Ildegonde ? for if thou 
dost, bribe thy swain with a vow to put them both in a boat 



1£ KING STEPHEN 

without an oar, and let them float as far as the Danube will 
bear them. 

Ildegonde. — Why, lady, surely you are not so little of a 
woman as to hate all lovers ? 

Geraldine. — Say just enough of woman to hate them all. 
I always maryel that a smooth-skinned, sweet-scented creature 
like woman, should suffer one of these ill-flavoured males to 
come nigh her. Why the first scent of his jerkin were enough 
to poison one. 

Lldegonde. — (Aside, Now will I see what thy mother's 
prompting is worth). But would'st thou have me think that 
thou lovest not the pomp and state of wedded life as other 
women do ? Is there a daughter of earth that doth not fear 
neglect more than death ? 

Geraldine. — Why, yes, 'tis a great matter to see a scholar 
grown clean, and a bear turn spaniel, that one may give him 
a rose-bud to kiss, dear brute ; nay, 'tis something, even, to 
lead captive a sweet, pensive creature who fears to come too 
nigh me, and wanders to and fro, as though he were a child 
of that Cain the Christians talk of. 

Ildegonde. — Lady Geraldine, you speak as though making 
love were the beginning and ending of the riddle. 

Geraldine. — There you are wrong, madam. I have 
thought how sweet it must be to play chief lady in a crazy old 
dungeon on a hill-top — to lie on the state-bed, in the same 
musty chamber where all the good folks died before me — to 
rule over unkempt, greasy -jerkined serving-men, and to queen 
it over pert maids and stupid knaves. 

Ildegonde. — Lady, you are past bearing. You will have 
to wed the knight ; so I pray you play not the fool when he 
comes to-morrow. 

Geraldine. — As if there were a he who could not play 
the fool for two ! 



OF HUNGARY. 



13 



Ildegonde. — Forget not, lady, that thy mother deals with 
those who can as easily change thee to a were-wolf, as thou 
canst change thy robe. 

Geraldine. — Nay, madam, if you will needs moralize, let 
us go and dine first. 

Exeunt. 



SCENE VI. 

A STREET IN GRAN. ENTER ANDREAS AND BELA EROM 
OPPOSITE SIDES. 

Andreas. — Good morrow, brother, how fare you? 

Bela. — Eight well, Andreas, and what news ? 

Andreas. — Nought more than that I am now accepted 
suitor for the hand of Geraldine. 

Bera. — {Aside, And thou wilt have to get the maiden's 
good word as the lion wins his mate's ; by dint of his claws 
and teeth). And the lady herself? 

Andreas. — She saith nothing, but her mother will let 
Geraldine cross her as much as a cat lets her kitten tear her 
sleek fur ; so much as she liketh and no more. But how 
prospers our affair ? 

Bela. — Not too well ; but the seed is sown, and Ernest 
will join us. Vazul will not, and seems proof against every 
bait, so we must make him minister to his own perdition I 
thought to bring him to-night. 

Andreas. — Art thou mad ? How long dost thou think he 
would be in the house ere Geraldine clawed his face, and her 
mother wished him with Thor and Odin ? 



14 KING STEPHEN 

Bela. — Marry, and little he'd care to pay them a visit in 
his wild humours. 

Andreas. — Doth he love the wine -cup and a fair face as 
much as ever ? 

Bela.— -More than ever. As I live, I believe that were the 
two deities thou didst speak of, to ask him to supper he'd 
snap at the chance, were he to have the choosing'of the dishes. 

Andreas. — And that will please Stephen none too much. 
But now I go to further matters with Ernest, so come with 
me and we'll speak more of our affairs. 

Exeunt. 



EKD OF ACT I. 



OF HUNGARY. 15 



ACT II 



SCENE I. 

THE GARDEN OF PRINCESS BERTHA's CASTLE, NEAR THE WINDOW 

OF GERALDINE's APARTMENT. ENTER PRINCE EMERIC : VAZUL 

IN THE BACKGROUND. 

P. Emeric. — See how the queen of night in silence weighs 
Her golden anchor, and by the pale horizon's light, 
Her orbed silver sail slowly unfurls, 
To steer her bark o'er the wide seas of ether, 
While in her wake the starry fleet doth gather. 
Here, hid from the rude world, let me evoke 
The soul of poesy, and my love's beauty sing. 

Sings. 

1. 

There's a light that's more glad than the sun's joyous beam, 

Or the smile of the moon on the rippling stream ; 

Or the pale evening star rising silent and lone, 

'Tis the light in that bosom where love rears his throne. 

Greraldine ! 

2. 

There's a hue that's more fair than the blush of the rose, 
And more pure than the lily or winter's pale snows : 
And more priceless than jewels from India's parched shore ; 
'Tis the bloom on the cheek of the girl we adore. 

Geraldine ! 



16 



KING STEPHEN 



3 

* 'Tis sweet when the nightingale tunes her glad throat, 
And sweet is the magic of music's soft note ; 
And sweet is the call of the lone woodland dove ; 
But more sweet is the voice of the girl that we love. 

Geraldine ! 

(Geraldine appears at the window.) 

Geraldine. — Good youth, wast thou ever crossed in love 
that thou singest such plaintive ditties ? Thy song might 
have been longer and livelier, fair Geyza. 

P. Emeric. — Lady Geraldine, I know that thou art as 
witty as thou art lovely, and that thy wild spirit hath no 
malice in it ; but I pray you for one moment forego what is 
foreign to your humour. 

Vaztjl. — {Aside, That's about as true, cousin, as if I had 
said thou hast more judgment than love.) 

Geraldine. — 'Twould be more foreign to my humour to 
let a goodly youth go prowling about at night when honest 
people should be saying their prayers. Why, as I live, thou 
art unbonneted. 

P. Emeric. — Sweet Geraldine, wilt thou always turn aside 
from my suit ? 

Geraldine. — Nay, not when thou hast ceased to proffer it, 
and that thou should'st do ; 'tis a losing game to woo a maid 
who wants no men to plague her life out. 

P. Emeric. — Lady Geraldine, ask me not to relinquish all 
hope. 

Geraldine. — If I did 'twould serve me little ; men give up 
few things they like to keep. 

P. Emeric. — But say, what ground hast thou against my 
proffered love ? 

Geraldine. — Ground enough to stand firm on. Mercy 



OF HUNGARY. 



17 



on me, sir Geyza, art thou making love to a doctor of 
philosophy ? 

P. Emeric. — Nay, Lady Geraldine, be not unjust. 
Geraldixe. — Ungrateful youth, I was not only just but 
kind. And now I am about to sing you a song I treat all 
my lovers to, and as your liege lady, till you find another, I 
command you to listen ; then if the fire of love burns too 
fiercely in your bosom, why a dip in the river will put it out 
and dispose you to sleep. 

Sings. 
1. 
'Tis vain to tempt, the gilded bait, 

Hath ne'er a charm for me ; 
Nor titles, wealth, nor pomp or state, 

I prize like being free. 
The rose that charmed while on the bough, 

"When plucked is prized no more ; 
And she that's duped by lover's vow, 
Finds only woes in store. 

2. 

The maid is free, the wife's a slave ; 

Love passes like a dream ; 
Or sweet wild flower, rude winds have cast 

Upon the glittering stream. 
Then ladies all, if o'er these elves, 

Tour lawful sway ye'd keep ; 
Take all their gifts, but shun themselves, 
And leave the knaves to weep. 
And now, sir cavalier, good night for the last time, as I am 
about to be married to another. ( Closes the lattice. J 

P. Emeric (sitting down and covering his face with his hands). 
Ah, Geraldine, little dost thou think how heavy such light 
words may lie. And is it to hear my doom in such a tone 

C 



18 



KING STEPHEN 



that I have foregone the hand of more than one courtly 
maiden ? But thou hast sent home the shaft now. (Looking 
tfj?, as Vazul comes forward.) Ah, Vazul, happy man that thou 
art. 

Vazul. — Cousin, your lady love speaks plain ; a dip in 
the Danube to-night. Why, a man that would try it had 
need swim like a fish and bear freezing by nature. Sleep, 
indeed, marry, yes, and like a dormouse. 

P. Emeric. — Thou hast never been in love, Vazul ? 

Vazul. — There prince, Geyza I mean, you are wrong. I 
am always in love and out of luck with my loves. One lady 
says she won't have me, for that I love horse and hound better 
than to hear her sweet tongue, which is not true. Another 
says I fancy dicing and drinking, and she won't have a word 
to say to a sot and a gambler. A third falsely maligneth me, 
and saith I lie abed in the mornings, which I never do but 
when I sit up late at nights. 

P. Emeric. — (Sighing) Ah, Vazul ! 

Vazul. — Nay, I pray you, cousin, bear ill fortune better. 
Come, let's make for the tavern, and try what cheer good 
wine will yield. If thy love will stand a siege of tokay 'tis 
well fortified. 

P. Emeric. — I go with thee, but not to the tavern ; and do 
thou not tarry late for I would see thee early. 

Vazul. — I will not, cousin, for I love thee better than the 
best cellar in Hungary, and that's something to say. 

Exeunt. 



OF HUNGARY. 19 



SCENE IT. 

a eoom ik king Stephen's palace. 

K. Stephen (Solus). — 

Thus, then, my hopes of rest are foil'd. The mailed hand 

of war 
Dashes the cup of peace from my dried lips. 
The peasant dreams of war, 
And the proud chieftain on his bed of state 
Plunges into new scenes of murderous strife. 
I never thought to take the lists again, 
But if heaven will it so, 1 can but yield. 

Enter Count Esterhazy and Count Ernest. 

Good morrow, noble 'Esterhazy ; good morrow, Ernest, 
what news ? 

C. Ernest. — Sire, I would I brought no news at all. 

K. Stephen. — Then thou bringest bad news; but speak 
out, I pray, 'twill not grow, like good wine, better for 
keeping. 

C. E it nest. — First, then, sire, your son is gone to the war 
in Croatia, and soon after sunrise hath privily left the city. 
He sent me these letters for you and your lady (giving liimletters) 
possibly fearing you might not give consent. 

K. Stephen — My son gone to join Batthyany ? "What 
drove him to so ra<h a step ? (Aside, Can it be that his suit 
hath not prospered ?) 

C. Ernest. — Your excellency, I know not ; for ill news 
came so fast that I had little time to question those who 
brought word, since next I have to tell that Transylvania hath 



20 KING STEPHEN 

joined Bulgaria, and will have a throw at the dice for the 
crown of Hungary. 

C. Esterhazy, — 'Tis only too true, sire, they are burning 
and ravaging like so many devils. 

K. Stephen. — Then we will meet them as men should 
meet devils. They shall have what they seek for. Thou, 
Esterhazy, shalt at once summon the states, and I myself will 
once more lead the army. 

C. Ernest. — Bethink you, sire, how our country needeth 
rest. All around us heaves like a troubled sea, and should 
aught befal her monarch, Hungary would again bleed at every 
wound. 

K. Stephen. — Count, he that fears for one hour to risk all 
he hath ever gained, even at the last hour, is no monarch, 
though he sit upon a throne of gold. If Hungary hath no 
more than one king among her sons, 'twill not be long ere she 
fares ill. 

C. Esterhazy. — Yea, sire; but Hungary wanteth laws 
well nigh as much as she needeth a king. War brings woe to 
the toiling serf, and have you not sworn to sheathe your sword 
and free the slave ? 

K. Stephen. — Aye, that I have, and that I mean to do. 

C. Ernest. — Then think, sire, how they groan beneath the 
oppression of the nobles, who shoot, hang, or flog them as 
suits their mood. They are driven forth like beggars, or sold 
into new slavery as men sell an ox or a horse. 

K. Stephen. — There is much in what thou sayest, but till 
blood hath ceased to flow liberty and justice can never 
thrive. Right flourisheth only under the fostering hand of 
peace. I will throw for the highest stake, and while T handle 
the dice, the queen, yourselves, Illezhazy, and other trusty 
friends, will fill our place. 

C. Esterhazy, — And Bosnia, sire ? 



OF HUNGARY. 21 

K. Stephen. — If Bosnia draw not back, I leave her to 
thy care. Let thy march be silent, count, but swift as the 
wind. Strike not till the foe is in the toils, and then let the 
blow fall as the bolt follows the lightning. 

Exeunt. 



SCENE III. 

A ROOM IN PRINCESS BERTHA* S CASTLE. 

P. Bertha (Alone) 

Wilt thou still tempt me on ; shall this dream of a crown 
For ever flit before my straining eye-balls ? 
Still must I see, Stephen, resting from toil 
In the arms of death, and by him that meek idiot, 
For whose poor love he spurned my virgin hand ? 
Or doth my o'er-tasked brain delude my reason ? 
Enter Ildegonde. 
Ildegonde. — Lady, are you not well, you look but sadly? 
P. Bertha. — Peace, wench ; what matters the outer shell, 
so long as the mind is strong and free ? Prithee mind thy 
own looks and not mine. 

Ildegonde. — I crave pardon, madam. I only thought it 
was my humble duty to ask if ought ailed you. 

P. Bertha. — Tell me, Ildegonde, art thou ambitious ? 

Ildegonde. — I know not that I am, lady, unless the wish 

to be a good wife, to possess enow to live honestly with, and to 

be thought pious and have middling good looks, be ambition. 

P. Bertha. — Then art thou smitten like thy betters; and 



S 



XX KING STEPHEN 

thy maid would marry a serving man and be queen over the 
scullion. If cruel, selfish ambition spare not the lowly, how can 
the high-born hope to 'scape his power ? Leave me, dame. 

{Exit lldegonde.) 
The vision comes again ; the impalpable crown 
Sinks down anew upon this aching brow. 
This must not last, or the strained mind will yield 
And fall to ruin. Sweet rest, be thou my physic for this fancy. 
{Enter. Count Ernest.) 

Hah, Ernest, I did not think to see thou so soon again. 
"What means this early visit ? 

C. Ernest. — That I fear Stephen will take the field instead 
of sending only his army away. So thy decoy will pipe in 
vain ; he is not to be caught without his men-at-arms. 
Our friends on the frontier will be only too glad to sheathe 
their swords, when they know he hath drawn his. I hoped 
to have parted the waters, and overcome each separately. 

P. Bertha. — Then if thou cans't not get Stephen to dis- 
miss his army and stay here to try his strength singly against 
his old friends, the shaft is lost. Well, we shall find another, 
and aim it better. But I pray you for to-day hold me 
excused if I leave you ; I am not well. 

C. Ernest. — I grieve more at the cause than at your 
leaving. I trust you will rest till you are better, and till that 
happy hour, adieu. {Kissing her hand.) 

P. Bertha. — Adieu, Count. 

( Exeunt separately). 



OF HUNGARY. 23 



SCENE IV. 



COUNT BATTHYANY's HEAD-QUARTERS NEAR AGEAil, IN CROATIA. 

A SOLDIER, ARMED WITH A CROSS-BOW, ON GUARD BEFORE 

THE COUNT'S TENT. 

Soldier. — Thanks for every blessing, morning's here at 
last. A walk at dawn till a man's so weary he could sleep 
standing isn't the best post one could wish, but 'tis better 
than to lie in that smoking hive of a tent. My friends, too, 
are of a stronger flavour than I like ; there's one, Richard, 
smells like a pole-cat ; on the word of a gentleman, I dont 
believe he hath been cleansed since his mother washed him ; 
a dirty pig he is ; given to garlic and possessed of rotten 
teeth. 

Enter Vazul. 

Hold ; who goes there ? 

Vazul. — Thou should'st say, who comes hither ? Thy 
schoolmaster neglected thy grammar, knave. 

Soldier. — Sir. I know as little of grammar as you like, but 
I know what my life's worth if I let you pass without the 
word. Who are you ? 

Vazul. — A friend. 

Soldier. — Then a friend who comes without the password 
had better show his back, or he may chance to meet an 
enemy, So move on, sir friend, (taking aim) 'ere I let the 
rising sun shine through thee. 

Vazul. — Dost thou think 1 am deaf of both ears that thou 
shoutest so ? If thou can'st not let me through, send some 
one to Count Batthyany with this letter ; I want to see him. 

Soldier. — And have my back skinned for leaving my 



£4: KING STEPHEN 

post. Withdraw outside the lines, or you'll never see Count 
Batthyany till you meet him in the next world. Will you go ? 

Vazul — Yes, rude beast. (Exit.) 

Soldier. — Beast, indeed. 'Tis well for thee thou hast met 
a gentleman, and still better that King Stephen had a father 
before him. Had he not been born to teach his army better 
manners, thou hadst had thy brains knocked out and thy 
pouch emptied. But the good old days are gone, and the 
provost shrives a man at the first tree, who's unlucky enough 
to light upon a noisy villain that wants killing ere he part 
with his ducats. 

Enter another Soldier. 

Second Soldier. — Hast thou heard the news ? 

First Soldier. — Dost thou think any one with brains in 
his head would come out here at the risk of being shot to tell 
me news ? What hast thou to say ? 

Second Soldier. — That there will be no war, and that 
we are going home again. King Cresimir hath wedded his 
daughter to the prince, and we wait hourly for the young 
pair. 

First Soldier. — What sort of lady is she? 

Second Soldier. — As fair a dame as ever made a man 
leave his supper to sing love ditties under her window. 
Enter a Third Soldier. 

Third Soldier. — Ah, my friend, I have news for thee. 
The youth thou didst refuse to let through is the king's 
cousin, and hath sent thee a brace of crowns for thy good 
discipline, with leave from the Count to quit thy post and 
drink them away. 

First Soldier. — Come, then, lads, we'll soon melt them 
into good wine. 

Exeunt. 



OF HUNGARY. 25 



SCENE V. 

SAME PLACE. ENTER PRINCE EMERIC, VAZTJL, AND COUNT 
BATTHYANY. 

P. Emeric — Yes, Vazul, thou wast right. 'Twas a sharp 
tussle with my love for Geraldine, but I threw my tyrant ; and 
'twas no slight help to tell me that she knew how to love the 
prince but not the scholar. 

C. Batthyany. — Prince, you might have fared worse than 
to change the black eyes and ruddy lips of Geraldine for the 
fair Croat princess. But say, in what sort of humour was 
the king when he gave you his daughter ? 

P. Emeric. — In truth, Count, he bestowed his gift with as 
much grace as the foul fiend gives a blessing with ; and then 
went back to his kennel like an old mastiff that hath found a 
better dog than himself. 

Vazul. — 'Twas a good miss, cousin. The blood of Geyza 
and Simegh could no more mix than oil and water. 

P. Emeric — Right, cousin ; the sun cannot shine when 
the thunder reigneth. But now let us hasten back to Gran, 
for I want to show my bride. And thou, Count, fortune 
seems to have favoured thy arms again. 

C. Batthyany. — Aye, prince, fortune is a pert wench, 
who flouts a gentle swain, but refuses nought to a bold gallant 
who won't hear nay. Thy father trusted her little, sir ; 
ere he ruled each chief ordered and none obeyed, 'twas who 
should brag loudest. But now tis short shrift for those who 
mind not what they are told. 

P. Emeric — And how did the nobles like thy terms ? 



26 KING STEPHEN 

C. Batthyany. — Not in the least; but I made some few 
serve as soldiers, and gave their lands to better men. 

P. Emeric. — And did they not rebel ? 

C. Batthyany. — Indeed they did ; however, I told them 
there were trees enough in Hungary to hang all the worst of 
them, and the rest thought that, thick as their heads were, 
they could break them by running against a stone wall. 

Vazul. — Well done, Count, If you doctor thus, I would 
rather be the leech than the patient. And now let us start, for 
'tis a long ride to Gran. 

Exeunt Omnes. 



SCENE VI. 

A BOOM IN THE PALACE AT GRAN. — COUNT ESTERUAZY A> D 

LEGATE. 

Legate. — So, Count, you say I cannot see the king ? 

C. Esterhazy. — The king is but now returned from the 
frontier, where he hath paid some old scores, and 'ere he 
rested, he gave measures for holding a diet of the nobles 
to-morrow, when he will thank them for their loyalty in 
putting down revolt, and celebrate his son's marriage. 

Legate. — Noble Esterhazy, my message brooks not the 
idle delays of court forms. His holiness, Pope John, the 
vicegerent of heaven on earth, before whose throne the 
haughtiest monarchs must bow, and who treadeth on crowns as 
perishable trifles, is represented in the frail mortal who seeks 
audience of thy master. 



OF HUNGARY. 



n 



C. Esterhazy. — And were Pope John to come, and all the 
college of cardinals at his skirts, Stephen would not unmake 
his measures. Therefore, if you would prosper in your 
errand, tell it to me. 

Legate. — At thy own risk be it, Count ; for know that 
the Church, which in her infallible wisdom thought fit to 
receive Hungary into her fold, and whose crown thy master 
weareth, doth tender you continuance of his gracious favour, 
and wisheth Stephen to remove for aye all servants of the true 
church from the rule of laymen, and leave her to govern her 
children. 

C. Esterhazy.— And thy master thinketh Stephen will do 
this? 

Legate. — Therefore am I come; and this diet, of which 
all men will hear, were a fitting occasion. 

C. Esterhazy. — Then let me tell you, legate, that if you 
would not walk back like St. Denis, with your head in your 
hand, you had better leave your mission undone. Wot you 
not how St. Gerard fared, when our rough knights sent him 
flying from the Blocksberg like a shooting star ? 

Legate. — Proud soldier, pause 'ere thou enter into strife 
with a power which, tho' unarmed, can arm against King 
Stephen the monarchies of earth. 

C. Esterhazy. — Good father, prate not of ban or interdict 
to soldiers. So long as we are masters of our neighbours we 
shall care little for those who are far off. And now, I pray 
you, sir, think of something better to say, and for to-night 
accept the best cheer a Magyar host can set before you. 

Legate. — I accept your courtesy, Count, and will after- 
wards confer more with you in this matter. 

Exeunt. 



28 



KING STEPHEN 



SCENE VII. 



GEAND HALL IN THE ROYAL PALACE OE GEAN. KING STEPHEN 
ON HIS THEONE. QUEEN GISELA, PEINCE EMEBIC, THE 

PEINCESS OE CEOATIA ; COUNTS ESTEBHAZY, BATTHTANT, 
EENEST ; BISHOPS, THE LEGATE ; NOBLES AND MAGTAE CHIEFS 
ON HIS EIGHT HAND. DEPUTIES EEOM THE CITIES ON HIS 
LEET. 



K. Stephen (Rising.) 
Hear me, ye Magyar chiefs, ye loyal nobles, 
Whose deeds so oft drove from this princely land 
Destroying war. 

Rest from such labours now ; a grateful country 
Seeks to repay your oft tried lealty. 
Thou, Esterhazy, hast long had a sacred claim 
On all a king can give. 

C. Esterhazy (Kneeling.) 
Most noble sire, I claim no other meed, 
Than to have served my king and country well. 

K. Stephen. * 

'Tis now long since thy services began, 
But I have ne'er forgot those trying hours, 
When Kupan's star 

Affrighted Hungary with its baleful lustre ; 
When Keene and Guyon banded their murderous hordes 
And not a few did speak of missions, envoys, treaties ; 
Showing by their poor, lukewarm spirit, 
How soon a weak soul could lose a noble heritage. 



OF HUNGARY. S 

Nor in what fashion thou from those sad days, 
To the last closing strife ; 
Didst ever rather choose the deadliest odds, 
Than soil the Magyar's name by one base word. 
Rise, first and most favoured noble in our realm. 

{Count Esterhazy kisses the Icing's hand, rises, and withdraws.) 

Brave Batthyany. 

{Count Batthyany comes forward and kneels.) 

C. Batthyany. — Great king. 

K. Stephen." 
To thee no second praise is due ; oft hath thy arm 
Dammed up the raging floods of scathing war. 
By day nor night hast thou ne'er shrunk from toil ; 
And while thy strategy dismayed our foes, 
The humblest soldier shared thy anxious care. 
Rise, twice enriched. 

(Count Batthyany kisses the king's hand and rises.) 

Ye other 
Nobles and soldiers, if I name ye not, 

(The Bishop, Nobles, Sfc, advance and kneel.) 
Think not that I forget your lofty deeds, 
But because time doth press, I must omit 
Your several names, and but thank ye thus 
For priceless aid. 

Nobles, Prelates, &c. — Eljen Magyar. 
(They rise and retire, and the Deputies advance and kneel.) 
Ye citizens, whose skill hath made this city, 
Bloom as the lime tree, round which the fretful bees 
Gather in mirthful spring. Ye hardy sons of toil, 
Who gave your blood, your lands, and granaries, 
To ward the foeman's sword from Hungary's neck ; 
For ye the long canal, the solid road 
Shall seam the land, till art and wealth and commerce 



SO KING STEPHEN 

Haste to cast anchor at your teeming wharves. 

Deputies. — Long life to King Stephen. {They rise and 
retire.) 

K. Stephen. 
And now for one last favour, I'm your suitor ; 
Grant us your presence at the nuptial banquet 
Queen Gisela, and the fair lady our son hath chosen, 
Await you there, 

One day to festive leisure let us give, 
And may that day long in our memories live ; 
And each man pray who pours the sparkling wine, 
The Magyar's land may be bright freedom's shrine. 



Curtain falls 



END OF ACT II. 



OF HUNGARY. 



31 



ACT III 



SCENE I. 

A ROOM IN PRINCESS BERTHA'S CASTLE, AT GRAN. 

Enter Andreas and Bertha. 

P. Bertha. — So thou seest at last that Saint Stephen 
careth as little for thee or thy house, as for all the others that 
have served his turn. Thou art not as useful as Esterhazy or 
Batthyany, and he can afford not to speak of thee at his diets. 

Andreas. — Enough, lady ; I will not fail to think of it. 
But what is this service you require ? 

P. Bertha — This. Not very far from Theben lives a 
magician, named Zadig, banished for no good deeds from 
Gran, who hath studied in Egypt and Arabia, and hath 
learned all the lore of the Copts and Chaldees. He hath a 
philtre of marvellous power, and when the heir to some great 
heritage hath drunk of it, he groweth dainty and fadeth away, 
like a maid that dieth of a broken heart ; leaving his place for 
the nearest of kin. Get me that cure for heart-sickness, and 
Geraldine shall still be thine. 

Andreas. — And how shall I get the philtre ? 

P. Bertha. — Go thou to Theben ; nigh to it lives a monk, 
called Gcrvais of the rock. He will guide thee to Zadig's 
tower, where, for a letter and gold, which I will furnish, the 
philtre is ours. 



3% KING STEPHEN 

Andreas. — Hast thou a guide that can take me to Theben 
unseen ? Were Stephen's sharp ears to hear of such an 
errand, their owner might chance to make us try the virtue 
of these devil's drops on ourselves. 

P. Bertha. — Take Vazul with thee ; he knoweth every 
bye-path far and near, and though orders are that he shall not 
come near Gran, thou knowest he will face anything for 
gold. 

Andreas. — Aye, that he will ; give him a purse and he 
would beard the devil himself in his grimy den. 

P. Bertha. — Then haste, Andreas ; and as much good as 
I can wish thee be thy portion. 

Andreas. — Farewell, lady. 

Exeunt separately. 



SCENE II. 

A ROOM IN THE CASTLE OF COUNT ERNEST, AT GRAN. COUNT 
ERNEST ALONE. 

C. Ernest.— So the old side hath only need of money and 
may win now. Bulgaria is ripe ; the old feud in Transylvania, 
like a half cured sore, is ready to break out worse than ever. 
We want but gold t and I must now risk all to get it ; for if I 
lose, I lose but what I lost by venturing little ; and if I win, I 
can, when king, pay it back with ease. Aye, as king ! But 
it must be so ; I have doubted too long. (Rings : enter a page.) 
Waits Elisha, the Jew, outside ? 



OP HUNGARY. 33 

Page. — He does, my lord. 

C. Ernest. — Send him in {exit page), and let me see if 
there be such a thing as a Jew that a knight may deal with. 
Enter JElisJia. 

Good morrow, Jew. I am about to give thee that for 
which thou would'st sell the hair off thy head, and the teeth 
out of thy jaws. Gold, Jew, gold ! 

Elisha. — Heh, heh, heh ; your highness is pleased to be 
witty. 

C. Ernest. — Jew, listen. I am but little given to wit ; 
the Magyar is no mountebank. Now if I give thee broad 
acres to hold, how much money could'st thou bring me 
within a week ? Mind, Jew, no double dealings ; no slink- 
ing and sidling up with that false look and glib tongue of 
thine to make better terms. 

Elisha. — Oh tear, no ; not for the world. 

C. Ernest. — Lie not, Jew ; thou would'st do it for a 
ducat more. Tell not to me thy tale about some friend 
thou did'st count upon, as great a rogue as thyself, who 
hath failed thee at the last hour, that thou and he may get 
more usury ; forget thy light weights, thy false scales, thy 
clippings, thy quirks and shufflings. 

Elisha. — Surely, your highness, surely. 

C. Ernest. — Or wer't the last act of my life, I'd have thee 
flung from the battlements. Ere thou did'st touch the 
ground, thou would'st wish that for once in thy life thou 
had'st been an honest man. 

Elisha. — Oh, tear, yes ; but I am so poor. How much 
does the lands yield your highness ? 

C. Ernest. — Twenty thousand ducats, yearly, with rare 
hunting and all rights of forestry. 

Elisha. — And what sum docs your highness want ; five 
thousand ducats? 

D 



34 KING STEPHEN 

C. Ernest. — Five thousand ducats, thou plundering knave. 
Ten times five. 

Elisha. — Oh tear, all our tribe from York to Babylon 
have not a man could spare so much at one time. 

C. Ernest. — Jew ! I will teach thee to try and outwit 
me. Thy kinsman Aaron shall have the lands in gage, and 
thou will't tear thy hair and be wretched till thou can'st again 
cheat some victim. Nay, waste not my time ; away, an honest 
man ever drives the best bargain. 

Elisha. — Well, I'll try, and your highness won't object to 
give me a little security ; just to sign a little bond ? 

C. Ernest. — Why nay, I needs must, when thou would'st 
not trust Stephen himself on his word ; so bring thy miserable 
instrument with thee and I will sign it, for I learned to 
write ; tho' methinks a true knight should never sign parch- 
ment but with the hilt of his sword. And mind, one half of 
the gold must be paid here to night ; the other half a month 
hence. 

Elisha. — Oh yes, I'll go and get the monies. Let me 
kiss the hem of your highness's robe. 

C. Ernest. — (Starting up.) What, dog, would'st thou 
defile a noble ? Hold back, or I may chance to lop off that 
dirty claw of thine. Begone, I say, and be silent ; not for 
the sake of my head, but of thy own. 

Exit Elisha. 

Now welcome thou god of war. 
The Christians lied who called thee earth's worst pest, 
Sprung from the mighty loins of their feigned Nimrod. 
Wise men find out thy fairer side, and while 
Thou yieldest such rich prizes to bold spirits ; 
The pale-faced monks may ban thee for a demon, 
And hang themselves for want of true believers. (Exit.) 



OF HUNGARY. 35 



SCENE III. 

THE HERMITAGE OE GERVAIS OE THE ROCK, NEAR THEBEN, 
AN IMMENSE CASTELLATED ROCK, AT THE CONELUENCE OE 
THE MARCH AND DANUBE. GERVAIS (Solus) AT A TABLE 
WITH A EL AGON IN HIS HAND. 

Really this is too hard upon me ; I'm not quite so young 
as I was twenty years ago, and I shall have to bestir myself 
or people will talk about this matter ; nothing could be more 
unlucky than for the holy father to smother himself in the 
marsh last night, after leaving this comfortable little nook, 
instead of having been to shrive a dirty boor. I'm afraid he 
took a glass more than was good for him. Ah dear here's 
to his soul (drinks), and to his successor's health (drinks). 
He was a man who knew the value of a venison pasty and a 
glass of good wine. To think how he used to hold spiritual 
converse here (drinks). I hope something will happen to 
make me wanted, an earthquake or a fire, or people will — 
(A loud knock at the door.) Hallo, what the devil's that ? 
The holy father back from the realms of bliss ? 
(Enter Vazul and Andreas.) 

Vazul. — Your pardon, monk ; I am not a holy father, 
neither do I come from the realms of bliss. 

Gervais. — Little need hast thou to say that thou art a man 
of sin ; thy garb and air betray thee. Friends, why do ye 
disturb a poor sinner at his devotions ? 

Vazul. — Merely, sir monk, for this reason ; we are bound 
for the magician, thy friend, and we need thy guidance to his 
lair. 

d 2 



Ob KING STEPHEN 

Gervais. — And do'st thou think, thou son of Belial, that I 
will venture forth at this hour on such an errand? I am 
racked with gout and have but a tender stomach, youth ; my 
cough and asthma, and stitch in the side make night travel- 
ling dangerous, to say nought of wolves and robbers, (Aside, 
which ye may be.) 

Vaztjl. — Holy father, weigh not matters too nicely ; 
choose, in haste, whether thou wilt for a brief space quit 
this little paradise of thine to gather honey (shewing him a 
purse), or thou wilt go with sore bones, and an empty pouch. 

Gervais. — (Taking the purse) Graceless sinner, would'st 
thou lift thy hand against a servant of the Church ? 

Vaztjl. — Aye, truly, against the blessed sanctified Pope 
himself; so don thy mantle, and hasten thee. 

Gervais. — Then get thee gone, reprobate ; with such as 
thee I go not forth (Aside, especially in the dark). 

Vazul. — (Striking him several times with the blade of his 
sword) Now then, in Lucifer's name, wilt thou try the strength 
of my arm again ? 

Gervais. — (Jumping up) Murder ! Damnation ! Whoo ! 
What fiend sent thee hither ? 

Andreas. — Nay, Vazul, strike not the holy father so ; 
thou wilPt never get to heaven if thou art so rude with the 
Church. 

Gervais.—- (Aside, To heaven indeed! Why, he's gone 
beyond redemption already, and all the holy water in Rome 
would not put out the fire that's burning for him.) 

Vazul. — Now thou talkest like a man of sense, father 
Gervais ; she that sent us wanted thy aid in our errand, 
and thy blessing on it. 

Andreas.— Good Gervais, I beseech thee lead us forthwith 
to Zadig. Our case admits of no respite. 



OF HUNGARY. 37 

Gervais. — My son, thou speakest fair, and I will go, but 
first refresh thee after thy toils. (Aside, I will, I know. 
Goes to a clipboard.) 

Vazul. — Tarry not long, monk. 

Gervais. — {Bringing out an armful of pasties and bottles.) 
Hearken, strong, valiant youth; this poor frame is wearied 
with wrestling against the ills of life and craveth sustenance. 
{Aside, the miscreant hath the strength of a bear in his arm ; 
my back will ache for a week.) 

Vazul. — (Emptying a goblet, and seizing a pasty.) Dost thou 
always fare in this wise, pious man ? 

Gervais. — My son, frail mortals like myself need the aid 
of wine against our natural weakness. {Aside, the youth 
hath a good perception.) 

Vazul. — The wine is capital (drinking off another goblet), 
Gervais, thou had'st this from the cellar of some rich penitent 
who had once cheated his neighbours of their vineyards, and 
was afraid of going where he'd get none. 

Andreas. — Say, monk, when shall we set forth ? 

Vazul. — After supper. 

Gervais. — My son, over eagerness is like a greedy fish, 
that swalloweth the hook when he meaneth only to catch the 
bait. From sunset to sunrise the great Zadig passes the 
hours like myself, in prayer and rest. At break of day will 
be early enough {Vazul drinks another goblet. Aside, That 
youth's draught is marvellous.) 

Vazul. — Right, holy father, I drink to thy weal ; 'twere 
not a bad idea to turn monk. {Brinks again) 

Gervais. — {Aside, The miscreant's stomach hath as hard a 
coat of mail as his broad back To Andreas). Son, the 
blessing of pious men is on the wine ; drink a little, I prithee. 

Andreas. — As thou will't, so thou do but guide us. 

Gervais. — Fear not. {To Vazul,) Friend, I drink in the 
hope Fmay guide thee to better thoughts. 



38 KING STEPHEN 

Vazul. — Thy health, father ; perdition seize me if I love 
not the holy order. 

Gervais. — Swear not, sweet youth {Aside, Godless repro- 
bate I should say), I warrant me now, my child, thou hast been 
brought up in evil ways. Tell me, is it true that there are 
men so sinful as to sing of love and drinking, and dwelling in 
courts, and riding to the chase bravely dressed, with hawk 
and hound ? 

Vazul. — (Drinking) Marry, there are, and jolly men-theybe. 

Gervais. — Then I would, but not of evil curiosity, hear 
thee sing a stave or two, that I might better know in what 
wise to combat the evil. 

Vazul. — Faith, if thou will't give me a stoup more of 
that brave wine, I will sing thee twenty arid thou shall join 
chorus. 

Gervais.' — And I, my son of the strong arm, will humour 
thee and this sweet youth will join us. 

Andreas. — Why there's no other way, for I can't go 
alone. 

Gervais. — Come then, my children, let us betake our- 
selves to another chamber, where idle passers-by may not hear 
us, and think we are solacing ourselves with carnal music. A 
youth I am training will bring a fitting pittance of these 
poor animal comforts. Come, children. 

, Sings. 

Then a song for my glass, and round let it pass, 

Since it brings neither sin nor sorrow. 
Good wine let us quaff, and merrily laugh, 
And let grim care wait for the morrow. 

Exeunt arm-in-arm . 



OF HUNGARY. 39 



SCENE IV. 



A STEEET IN GEAN. ENTEE ILDEGONDE AND GEEALDINE 
EEOM ONE SIDE, A PAGE EEOM THE OTHEE. 

Geealdine. — Why, Ildegonde, here is our youthful sage's 
imp, our philosopher's Mercury. Say, boy, what new freak 
is thy master labouring under ? He hath been everything 
but a wise man ; hath he betaken himself to that trade ? 

Page. — Lady, he hath grown more foolish than ever ; he 
hath married. 

Geealdine. — What ; a milk-maid, with her sweet breath 
and coarse paws? 

Page. — Say, rather, he hath began to love gold and good 
quality. The lady is the daughter of king Cresimir. 

Geealdine. — Thou brat if thou dost think to bandy 
foolery with me I will have thee scourged till thou mendest 
thy manners. Thy master wed the daughter of Cresimir ! 
Had'st thou not better call thyself bridegroom to the lady ? 

Page. — Believe it or not, madam; that lover was the 
son of king Stephen, and his memory of old love hath made 
him send me hither. 

Geealdine. — To ask me to come and see his dame ? 

Page. — No, madam ; but to warn you that king Stephen 
hath heard rumours of your lady mother which pleased him 
little. 

Geealdine. — Let his father and my mother settle that ; I 



40 KING STEPHEN 

want not his advice. He trusted thee ; say, why did he not 
proclaim his rank at first ? 

Page. — Because he thought the heart ought to be given 
away before the hand. 

Geraldine. — Knave, if thou art going to copy his style, 
get thee gone. Leave us : dost thou hear ? {Exit Page.) I 
have been a fool in this, and thou, who hast stepped in 
between me and a crown, may the foul leprosy speckle 
thy skin till thou art a spectre thy vilest menial shall turn 
from. 

Exit, followed by lldegonde. 



SCENE V. 

A BOOM IN PEINCESS BERTHA'S CASTLE AT GBAN. 

Enter Bertha, followed by a girl in chains ; after whom two men, 
one bearing a headsman's axe. At a signal from Bertha they 
enter a room at the back and close the door. She then rings. 

Enter an Attendant. 

P. Bertha. — Send hither the Servian, Godolphin {Exit 
attendant). The youth is reckless, hates the Christians, and 
loves this girl. 

{Enter Godolphin.) 

Godolphin, I need thy aid, and thou thy courage. Serve me 



OF HUNGARY. 41 

and thou shalt be free and rich ; refuse or play me false, and 
thou diest. 

Godolphin. — Say, what shall I do, lady? 

P. Bertha. — First I will shew thee what I can do. 
(Claps her hands ; the door opens and displays the maiden on the 
Mock, and the headsman standing over her with uplifted axe. 

Godolphin — ( Throwing himself at her feet.) Strike me first, 
thou devil. Nay, frown not at me, thou cankered witch ; 
thy own deed hath broken the spell of servitude. 

P. Bertha. — (To the attendants, Harm not the maiden, but 
watch her closely, and let her be tended as a lady. (The 
door is closed. To Godolphin) Rise, youth, thy wild humour 
is forgiven. Thou didst not know she was in my hands ; but 
I have paid the price for her capture, and I must have thy 
services. (Godolphin rises) Now thou seest thy best laid 
plot for treachery may cost her her head ; but be true, and 
thou shalt have the maid and a fair dowry. 

Godolphin. — Promise to spare her and I will do thy 
bidding, were it to stab great Stephen on his throne. 

P. Bertha. — (Smiling) Another time thy zeal may serve 
thee. All thou hast to do now is to go disguised as a royal 
page, and look bold at those who watch thee ; fear not, for a 
friend will be near. Enter at the hour of supper, and on a 
sign from thy friend, pour a philtre, which I will give thee, 
into a cup which the prince only drinks from ; then leave as 
thou didst go, unseen, mind, cost what it may. Dost thou 
comprehend me ? 

Godolphin. — Aye, lady. 

P. Bertha. — Thou wilt need to be sure of purpose, swift 
of foot, stealthy and bold ; and thy tribe is like the gos-hawk, 
one hour too fierce, and another too fearful. 

Godolphin. — Lady, we fear but slavery and are fierce 
only to our foes. 



4£ KING STEPHEN 

P. Bertha. — "Well, I will try thee ; thou shalt have the 
dress of a page, and be taught all his pert airs. In three 
days with thy wit thou wilt be as great a jackanapes as the 
best of them. And now, away, and forget not Adelaide. 

Exeunt separately. 



SCENE VI. 

AN OPEN SPACE EACTNG A THICKET NEAE ZADIG's TOWEE. 

YIEW OF THEBEN IN THE DISTANCE. ENTEE VAZUL AND 

ANDEEAS. 

Vazul. — {Sitting down on a hank) By my troth, Andreas, 
we'd better have left the old monk at the head of the table. 
He's at the bottom of the green Danube now, and our chance 
of getting to Zadig gone with him. 

Andreas. — Yes ; but who had thought him fool enough to 
get up while the boat was lurching in that gust. 

Vazul. — Well, if he didn't sail straight down it wasn't for 
want of ballast. He must have frightened the fishes when he 
went to the bottom, 

Andreas. — But your wisest fish, Vazul, is a noodle when 
his palate's concerned in the matter, and thou may'st swear 
that all the pike in the neighbourhood are swimming away for 
life to get a peck at his red nose. 

Vazul. — 'Tis lucky I brought some of his provender, or 
we might have starved as well as waited. {Pulling out a 
pasty and bottle.) Prithee sit down, Andreas, and stand not 



OF HUNGARY. 43 

there like a suit of clothes stuffed with hay to keep it in form. 
(Andreas sits'down.) 

(The Monk appears.) 

(Jumping up) S'death ! hast thou cheated the fishes and the 
devil at one turn ? 

Gervais. — Youth, heaven watched over my life. 

Andreas. — Say, rather, 'twas thy fat kept thee from 
sinking. 

Vazul. — Marvel not, Andreas, the holy man is so full of 
the spirit, that he could no more sink than St. John of 
Nepomucene. 'Twas lucky he had some light matter in him, 
or he had filled and gone down like a leaky boat, 

Gervais. — My children, I am somewhat faint, and being 
short of breath by reason of toil and fasting — 

Vazul. — (Giving him a cup of wine) Here, monk, haste 
thee and prate not. 'Tis late ; have we yet time ? 

Gervais. — (Drinking a tumbler) Time enough, son, for a 
smart youth like thee, who hath legs to carry his body and 
wit to guide his legs. 'Tis but a league or two, and if thou 
hast good soles to thy boots thou wilt be able to travel so 
far. 

Vazul. — Come, then, father. And now if that jaundiced 
moon will but show her nose at her garden wicket, I'll pray 
for the old jade the first time I'm at my devotions. (Shouts) 

Shine out thou bilious orb and light the way, 

Lest in this cursed waste we go astray. 

Exeunt Omnes. 



44 



KING STEPHEN 



SCENE VII. 

A BOOM IN THE MAGICIAN' S TOWER, FITTED UP WITH ALL THE 
IMPLEMENTS OE SORCERY. ZADIG AND GERTRUDE. 

Zadig. — Girl, what noise was that ? 

Gertrude. — Master, I heard no noise. 

Zadig. — 'Tis false, thou chit ; I grow old and failing, and 
thou cheatest me with thy tricks and quiffs ; I am too aged 
for thy sharp wit. Hast thou done thy work ? 

Gertrude. — Yes, master. 

Zadig. — Then take thy lute and sing me a song. 
{Gertrude goes out of the room for her lute.) 
This is the day the old witch told me I should die and by my 
own hand, and now the day's past. I took care the old 
harridan should lie, and I hope she lies in a hot place, the 
old viper, though I sent her to a cold one for her first night's 
rest on the journey. 

{Gertrude returns with the lute?) 
Girl, I had thee taught all the book lore when I took thee to 
Athens and Bagdad, that thou might'st be a bride for my old 
age, chuck. I'll make thee a better husband than a young 
good-for-nothing who can do nought but sing and fence, and 
who would soon leave thee for a new love. Let me hear if 
thou hast not forgotten thy books. 

{Gertrude Sings.) 
1. 
The lord of day his car hath quit, 

And deep beneath the blue sea-wave 
He rests, while fair nymphs round him wait 
In the gem-lighted, coral cave. 



OF HUNGARY. 45 

"With jewelled brow and silver robe, 
The chaste cold queen, the lovers' friend, 

Silent and slow on her bright car 

O'er night's vast slopes her way doth wend. 

2. 

The bulbul wooes the blushing rose ; 

The violet yields her sweetest breath ; 
Toil-wearied man sinks to repose, 

And nature slumbers calm as death. 
Eut where is he, to me more dear 

Than heaven above or earth below ? 
Why comes he not this heart to share, 

These joys to taste, this bliss to know ? 

Zadig. — What dost thou see from the window that thou 
lookest so hard ? 

Gertrude. — Three travellers, sir, and one is young and of 
goodly mien. Shall I lower the drawbridge ? 

Zadig. — Ah, have I caught thee at thy pranks, thou cat ? 
Thou would'st see the man because he is young. Have a 
care, or I will turn thee into a hare for dogs to hunt, or into 
a cur, and then scullions and serving-boys will kick and 
starve thee. (A horn is sounded, and the voice of Gervais is 
heard shouting " Zadig.") 

Zadig. — Gervais, thou pig, thou pyramid of blubber, thou 
mound of suet, I'll murder thee for coming to-day, my pious 
friend. (From the icindow) Away, or I'll hurl down boiling 
oil on your heads ; ye shall be cooked in your own fat, ye 
miscreants. 

Gervais. — (Without) Zadig, be not a fool. I bring thee 
a youth who payeth well, and will see thee whether he pay or 
not for the treat. 

Zadig. — Oh, Gervais, my excellent friend, I'll take my 
change out of thee for this. Thou shall't have pleurisies, my 



46 KING STEPHEN 

sweet, and ague, and colic, till thou could'st burn thy own 
mother for spite. 

{A crash is heard at the outer door.) 

Vazul. — ( Without) Let us in, man ; we mean thee no 
harm ; do'st thou think soldiers care for thy threats ? Set 
thy portals ajar, or we may set thy den on fire and stifle thee 
like a badger in his hole. 

Zadig. — {Wandering to and fro) Gervais, thou had'st best 
take wing or I will send goblins to thy couch to prick and 
pinch thee ; toads shall spit upon thy meat ; imps, thou holy 
porpoise, shall waste thy wine and ride on thy vats. I will 
send a black cat to sit on thy fat chest at nights and make 
thee dream of thy future home. 

(A louder crash is heard at the door.) 
{From the ivindow). 

Avaunt, ye men of violence, or my spells shall launch ye 

To the far Caucasus, where on the glacier throned 

Hoar winter reigns. 

Vazul. — {Outside) Go to the gallows thou old idiot with 
thy raving. Let down the drawbridge or I will make 
carrion of thee {Another crash). 

Zadig. — Child, let them in, they are breaking in the outer 
wicket. I may as well be killed by the old jade's cantrips 
as by these brawlers ; but if I live, my friend Gervais ; Oh 
my dear Gervais, won't I ? {She goes to a corner of the room and 
turns a large wheel, ivhich lowers a couple of chains.) 
Enter Gervais and Andreas. 

Gervais. — Save ye, great Zadig, 1 bring thee a discreet 
youth, as well laden with gold as a good bee with honey. 

Zadig. — He is welcome {Aside, With a curse on ye 
both). Save thee, youth, what is thy will at this late hour ? 

Andreas. — To make thee rich father, and gain thy good 
will. 



OF HUNGARY. 47 

Zadig. — What shall I do for thee, youth ? Show thee 
thy true love in a glass ; make thee famous and happy, 
or give thee the favour of high-born dames ? 

Andreas. — Neither, father ; but do thou give me what 
this letter asketh for and this shall be thy guerdon, {giving 
him a letter, and showing him a large hag of money.) 

Zadig. — [Beading, Aside, So the lady will be quit of some 
one that knoweth a dangerous secret, or will soothe the pangs 
of some relation who is sick at heart, and hath lands to leave. 
Wise, sweet dame ; did all know the use of my philtre war 
would cease to plague this stupid earth. Sword and axe 
may fail, but the philtre always hits the bull's eye). Father, 
I pray thee withdraw ; 'tis not safe to look upon the 
spirits. {Gervais withdraws ; Zadig looks about ; Gertrude retires 
further into the comer so that he cannot see her ; Vazul gets in at 
the window where Gertrude stands?) 

Vazul. — {Aside, 'Twas here I saw the little queen of a 
woman. Gervais fabled up that story about the old enchanter's 
bewitching us, if all three went in, to keep out a rival. By 
heavens, here she is. Hist, maiden ; what mummery's this 
old sorcerer at ? Gertrude puts her hand upon his arm, and her 
fingers upon her lips.) 

Zadtg. — {To Andreas) Sit here, good youth. {Motioning 
him to a seat opposite the table ; Andreas takes the seat assigned 
him) and speak not till the spirits be gone, or they will rend 
thee in pieces. 

Vazul. — {To Gertrude. Ah, I see thou art afraid; but 
fear not, child, if he seek to do thee ill, I'll roast the old fox 
at his own kitchen fire and baste him with the fat monk. 
'Twill be long ere he scorch, for the holy man hath more 
tallow on his ribs than a bear in October. {Meanwhile Zadig 
arranges various implements of sorcery upon the table, and seven 
chafing dishes in a circle, upon which dishes he sprinkles certain 



48 KTNG STEPHEN 

powders. A red fire appears in each chafing dish. Then talcing 
his wand, and placing himself by the side of Andreas, before the 
table, he recites; seven spirits appear, dimly seen behind the 
table ; the lights bum blue.) 

Zadig. — Great spirits bend ye to the potent charm, 
Or dread the might of wrathful Belial's arm. 
Grant me your help the matchless prize to gain ; 
The prize ye yield to vigils, toil and pain. 
Then be your reign as long as earth shall rest 
On its firm base, by lust and sin possessed. 
Long as the river flows, and fire shall burn, 
And time's swift wheel shall on its axle turn. 
Long as the sun shall chase the gaping dawn, 
And earth shall rise exulting in the morn. 
Say, will ye aid me ? 
{The spirits bow their heads, and each points to the centre of 
the table. A beautiful casket rises in the middle of it. 

Zadig. — Thanks, faithful spirits. (The spirits vanish slowly, 
the lights burn red again; Zadig unlocks the casket, and with- 
draws the philtre.) Here is the philtre, youth, bear it as 
though thou did'st carry thy life in thy hand. 

Andreas. — I thank thee, Zadig; Here is thy fee. {Giving 
him the bag of gold.) 

Zadig. — Adieu, my son; would all men were clever 
women (Exit Andreas). And thou {Kissing the purse), Let 
me feel thee, see thee, tumble thee, mumble thee ; thou 
amulet 'gainst all the ills of life. Thou shan't dwell safely 
now in good keeping, in my strong box, sweet. (Puts out all 
the lamps but one, which he takes in his hand, and moves towards 
Gertrude.) 

Gertrude. — (To Vazul, trying the door. Mercy on us, what 
shall we do ? The door is locked.) 

Zadig. — (Seeing Gertrude) Ah ! Thou accursed hobgoblin, 



OF HUNGARY. 49 

thou rosy-lipped imp of Lucifer; thou kitten-faced mischief; 
I'll cure thee of prying. 

Gertrude. — Pity, my lord. 

Zadig. — Pity, thou whelp of sin ; thou would'st raise up 
the great lord of Theben against me, with tales of my gold. 
Dost thou think I will risk death by stake and water for 
thy pretty eyes? {Opening a trap-door, and stuffing the hag of 
money into his pouch.) 

Vazul. — {To Gertrude, drawing his sword. Maiden, 
stand back, the old knave means mischief. If he comes nigh 
thee I will see if age hath made his hide tough enow to 
turn the point of my sword.) 

Zadig. — I'll drop thee in the Danube. Thou shall't keep 
watch in my cellar, where thou canst not see quite so well. 
{Drops the lamp down the trap.) There, Satan hath helped 
thee to a little more light. {Moves towards where Gertrude 
stands, Vazul steps hastily towards him.) What in the 
name of the foul fiend is that ? ( Turns aside, and falls down 
the trap, clinging to the edge?) Help, dear child ; I forgive 
thee. Help, the gold weighs me down ; perdition on thee. 
{Falls.) 

Gertrude. — Merciful heaven, he is lost; he alone hath 
the key of the door below. 

Vazul. — Quick, maiden, a light. ( She lights a lamp at a 
small fire, and gives it to Vazul.) 

Vazul. — (Looking down) Sweet girl, thou hast 'scaped 
a cold night's lodging. I see naught but a black stream 
flowing. 

Gertrude. — Sir, I have heard the old dame, who died 
here suddenly but a little while ago, say in her hour of 
passion that there were spells in the cellar, that filled more 
money bags than those above ground. 



50 



KING STEPHEN 



Vazul. — Aye, and she spoke wisely, girl. Leave this vile 
den and follow me. Get what thou hast, while I will 
make free with the old knave's gold, if thou will't but tell 
me where he hoarded it. He can't come back to claim it. 

Gertrude. — (Throwing a mantle over her head) Alack, 
sir, I have but little, and would fain leave it behind ; but 
he kept his savings there (pointing to a chest). 

Vazul. — {Takes down a pole-axe, oursts open the chest, and 
takes out several lags) Then I'll carry it for thee. Ah, here 
are the pickings of dead men's bones ; we'll spend them 
better than their owners did. Come, girl. 



Exeunt. 



efd or act in. 



OF HUNGARY. 51 



ACT IV, 



SCENE I. 

princess bertha's castle at gran, princes* bertha and 
count ernest. 

C. Ernest. — Yes, Bertha, we are prospering ; I have had 
king Stephen called away still further to crush out the 
revolt, and ere he returns, his son will be an angel, and there 
will be a friend filling his place. 

P. Bertha. — And the deed? 

C. Ernest. — Is framed. Erneric will sign it, and the 
nobles dare not dispute it. 

P. Bertha. — What of Tazul? 

C. Ernest. — The king still thinks he is best off in ban- 
ishment, where he hath less wine to drink and less money to 
spend on thy sex. 

P. Bertha. — But with all this the work is but half done; 
Stephen still lives. 

C. Ernest. — And will live, for me. 

P. Bertha. — So the fish will not rise till the hook is better 
gilded. 

C. Ernest. — Smear on the gilding as thick as thou will't ; 
I touch not Stephen's life. 

P. Bertha. — Others can do that for thee ; wouldst thou 
let the lion go, when thou mayst never have him in the toils 
again ? 

e 2 



52 KING STEPHEN 

C. Ernest. — Yes, when I have clipped his claws and 
drawn his tusks. 

P. Bertha. — And thou will't find he can grow a second 
set. He was born a soldier, and will die biting. 

C. Ernest. — Press me further, and I withdraw. 

P. Bertha. — Nay, thou shall't not have cause ; but some 
day thou will't find that Stephen will throw thee' like a treacher- 
ous steed thou thinkest to have tamed. Thou art but half a 
foe ; Stephen gone, who so fit to fill the throne as thou ? 
Vazul cares more for the spigot than for the crown ; and 
Andreas and Bela might settle their rival claims in the court 
of Odin. 

C. Ernest. — Brave Bertha! Fate meant thee for a 
throne, but nature, like a careless slut, left half the work 
for thee to finish. But there is much that calls me away. 
Farewell. 

P. Bertha. — Farewell, Count. 

Exeunt separately. 



SCENE II. 

royal palace at gran, prince emerio lying on a couch 
in a room looking out upon the garden. 

P. Emeric. — Once more cool morn dawns on my fevered 

brow; 
Once more the blazing lamp of Phoebus rouses the 

world 
To daily toil. Toil that doth change 
The desert courser to a mangy hack ; 
The hardy offspring of the warrior and the hunter, 



OF HUNGARY. 



53 



Into a pack of squalid, gambling knaves. 
Faugh ! I am sick of all such life can bring. 

Enter Count Ernest, who stops on seeing the Prince. 

P. Emeric. — (Not seeing Count Ernest.) 

There was a time my soul illumed my frame 

As light doth cheer the darker dross of earth ; 

But now, or this poor mind hath wed a corpse. 

Or this weak clay doth carry a dead soul. 

(Looking up) Your pardon, Count, I saw you not. Tell 
me sir, you have been a soldier, is it not a murderous trade 
to kill men ? 

C. Ernest. — Aye, Prince, but 'tis better to kill than to be 
killed. (Aside, Great Zadig, had'st thou not died so soon, 
thou had'st been immortal.) 

P. Emeric. — Then take thy dagger and kill me j save me 
from dying like a worn-out hound. 

C. Ernest. — But sir, if you are so ill, 'twere best, in 
your royal father's absence, you should depute some one 
who might fill your place. 

P. Emeric. — Thou art right; recall Yazul. 

C. Ernest. — To that, sire, your royal father had not 
agreed, were he here. 

P. Emeric. — I name Andreas and Bela, then. 

C. Ernest. — And put strife between the two for the most 
power ; they are but true to one another now, because they 
have nought to fight for. Let me say rather some old 
tried servant to your father's liking. 

P. Emeric — (Languidly,) Aye, thyself; but be quick 
Count and call some of the council, I am worse. 

C. Ernest. — Here is such a deed, (Producing a parch- 
ment) which I have as yet forborne to show, not wishing to 
arouse your fears. 



54 KING STEPHEN 

P. Emeric. — Fears, dost thou think a scholar feareth death 
more than a knight? Do shield and mail-coat protect 
more than the robe against his unerring stroke ? But quick, 
sir , I grow faint. 

C. Ernest. — (Aside, looking round, Perdition on the 
head of him who took away the writing materials ; he is 
going fast. Mings violently) What, ho ye knaves ! ( Two 
pages rush in) Pen and ink ye rascals, fly one of you for 
them (Exit one page). 

P. Emeric. — (Starting upwith a cry) Give me thy 
arm ; I die ; lead me to my chamber. 

C. Ernest. — (Aside, now could I do thy bidding with 
my dagger's point; but there is yet time) Lean on me 
prince, I pray you ; help, boy (to the other page) to bear the 
prince up. What, ho there, without. (Exeunt, Leadi?ig 
Prince Emeric.) 



SCENE III. 

A STREET LEADING FROM THE ROYAL PALACE AT GRAN. ENTER 
ELISHA AND AARON, MEETING. 

Elisha. — Good morrow, Aaron ; how's your sweet lady and 
the tear children ? And how's your son, little Isaac ? 

Aaron. — Little Isaac's dead. Little angel only weighed 
seven pounds the day he died ; and how's Ben Shusan ? 

Elisha. — Oh, very bad. His wife's had three doctors to 
see him yesterday ; clever woman, that, Aaron, sold them 
all good bargains and cleared a deal of monies. Doctors 
say he can't live. 

Aaron.-— Oh, Moses, I hope he won't die ; he owes me 
ten ducats, oh, vot a pity. 



OF HUNGARY. 55 

Eltsha. — Heh, heli, isn't dat gut? He owes me fifty. 
{Aside, on securities.) 

Aaron. — Oh yes, but I have'nt got no acknowledgment. 
Oh tear me, how vile and wicked after lucre some persons 
is. Anything to sell, Elisha ? 

Elisha. — Only a beautiful little ring ; cost such a teal of 
monies, Aaron ; all I had in de world. 

Aaron. — -Oh, give us de ring ; let's see de ring. 

Elisha, — (Shotting it) Look here, such a beauty. Cost 
eighty ducats. 

Aaron. — Well, I'll give you fifty. 

Elisha. — Oh, what a man it is ; say seventy-five. 

Aaron. — No, I don't mind fifty -five, to a friend like your- 
self, you know. 

Elisha. — Say seventy, and I'll give you such a beautiful 
laced coat into the bargain. 

Aaron. — No ; sixty, or I musht go. 

Elisha. — Oh, I shall be ruined, I know I shall; well, here 
it is (seeing that Aaron is moving off). 

Aaron. — (Snatches the ring, and pays him out the 
ducats) Oh tear, Elisha, it's a teal of monies. (Aside, 
Wonder how much Elisha's made by de bargain.) 

Elisha. — (Aside, Now he must not let any one know I 
sold him stolen goods.) Thou will't swear of course on the 
Talmud, to say thou did'st buy it of a poor pilgrim ? 

Aaron. — Not this time, for nothing, Elisha; I must have 
ten ducats back for swearing. 

Elisha. — Then will I swear away thy life, thou Philistine, 
thou hast taken a hundred per cent, against the laws of 
Hungary. 

Aaron. — Do it, thou Amalekite, and I will tell the 
Rabbi thou hast defiled thy faith. Thou hast not kept the 
white fast, and hast eaten pork with the wild youth 



56 KING STEPHEN 

Illezhazy, to get usury from him. Ah, hah, Elisha, my 
tear, thou lookest bilious. 

Elisha.— So thou will't jeopardy my life, pig, eh? 
(Raises Ms staff and strikes him.) 

Aaron. — (Drawing Ms knife) Thou old usurer, I will 
teach thee to strike one of the house of Levi. (Bushes at 
him, Elisha strikes the knife from his hand ; Aaron catches hold of 
the staff, and they rush roumd the stage, striking with the hand that 
is free.) 

Both. — Leave go ; murder ! help ! he's killing me. Fire ! 
thieves ! 

Enter an Officer and Four Guards. 

Officer. — What the plague ails ye, that ye make this 
heathenish riot, ye black wretches ? Can ye not live by 
plundering honest people, without flying at each other's 
throats ? But that ye are so near the palace I'd let ye tear 
each other to pieces like wild cats. Leave go, I say, or I'll 
hack your hands off. (To the guards) Here carry these two 
men to the prison by the east gate of the palace, till we 
know what the king may say to it. 

Elisha. — (Throwing himself at the officer's feet.) Oh, mercy, 
sweet sir, dear lord. 

Aaron. — (Prostrating himself) Oh, my lord, think of our 
wives and children. 

Officer. — Ye should have thought of them sooner. Ye 
knew the king hath set the penalty of death on the drawing 
of weapons in the city. Were ye the two first nobles in the 
land, I would send you to the gatehouse. 

Elisha. — Oh, tear sir, won't he let ush out again ? 

Officer. — Yes, he will let ye out on the day ye are 
hanged, each between a pair of dogs ; begone. 

Exit Guards and Jews, followed by the Officer. 



OF HUNGARY. 



57 



SCENE IV. 



A ROOM AT PRINCESS BERTHA S CASTLE AT GRAN. 
ILDEGONDE AND GERALDINE. 

Ildegonde. — Lady, are you not sad that your mother 
tarries so long ? 

Geraldine. — Nay, dame ; my mother hath long had the 
trick of making me feel pleased when she is away. 
Besides, we are but too much alike, and I owe her little 
thanks and less duty. 

Ildegonde, — Nay, lady, say not so. 

Geraldine. — And why not, madam ? 'Tis the truth. 

Ildegonde. — Aye, lady, but you know there are times 
when silence is better than truth itself. 

(A cry outside " Lady Geraldine.") 

Geraldine. — That's me. Do thou go, Ildegonde, and see 
what that clamour means. 

{A page rushes in.) 

Page. — Save yourself, lady, the guard is in the house. 
{Enter an Officer.') 

Officer. — I crave pardon, madam ; But Count Batthyany's 
orders are imperative, you must leave this house under my 
care. 

Geraldine. — {Rising) And why, sir? What means this 
outrage in my mother's absence ? 

Officer. — This outrage, madam, your mother had shared 
but for her absence. 



58 KING STEPHEN 

Geraldine. — (Ringing) Thou lying ruffian. Boy, tell 
the warder to close the gates. Ildegonde, do thou hasten to 
the court. 

Officer. — Ho, there, (Enter two soldiers) Lady, they pass 
not but at the peril of their lives. Choose the path I offer 
to you, or be borne to prison like a felon. 

Geraldine. — And whither doth that path lead ? 

Officer. — To the convent ! 

Geraldine. — (Sinking down on a seat) To the convent ? 

Officer. — Yes; for which you may thank your lady 
mother's plots. Hasten, I pray you ladies, to prepare 
yourselves. 

Geraldine. — (Throwing herself on lldegonde's neck) Oh, 
Ildegonde, thou will't go with me. But 'tis no time for 
weakness ; no tears for this outrage shall fall from the last 
daughter of my house. 

Ildegonde. — Lady, bear the affront as beneath your rank ; 
it cannot be that the king meaneth more than a threat. 
Geraldine. — Then can'st thou not read aright the book of 
fate. 

If Stephen hath not lost all sense of pity, 

Yet there are those around him that will scout it 

As more than weakness. 

The dreamy spring-time of my youth hath passed, 

And I have woke to the realities of life ; 

Those stern words made the false spell to melt. 

Come, Ildegonde, let's learn to change our style, 

Grow meek and pious, and cast down our eyes ; 

Forget the pleasant world, its joys and troubles, 

For a stone cell, whose dark and lonesome air 

Changes the blithest soul immured therein, 

To a ghastly mockery of the human image. 
Officer. — Ladies, say, are you prepared ? 



OF HUNGARY. 59 

Geraldine. — Aye, sir, we follow whereso'er ye lead. 

'Tis but the self same end whate'er the road. 
Officer. — Lady, I beseech you think not the case so 

hopeless. 
Geraldine. — Nay, keep your soothing, sir, for those who 
need it ; 
For were I hoodwinked I could spy out my goal. 
Ildegonde. — I beseech you, dear lady Geraldine, take 

comfort. 
Geraldine. — Comfort, Ildegonde. Such words fall on the 
wretch's ear 
As autumn winds speak to the withered leaves, 
Stoney-eyed ruthless fate, with unmoving finger, 
Points to my cheerless future ; henceforth my path 
Lies through a hideous, darkened, joyless waste ; 
An ever narrowing ring, amidst whose gloom 
The convent portal yawns like the hungry tomb. 

Exit, followed by Ildegonde and the Officer. 



SCENE V. 

A ROOM IN KING STEPHEN'S PALACE AT GRAN. 
KING STEPHEN AND VAZUL. 

K. Stephen. — Yes, Vazul, thou might'st help me now ; 
I fear some ill is hatching, and thou art sharp-witted enough. 
Dost thou think thou can'st be as discreet as thou art brave ? 

Vazul. — Aye, uncle ; give me a trial. 

K. Stephen. — 'Twas born with thee to use a lance, 
break a horse, and empty a flagon ; can'st thou manage 
thy tongue as well ? 



60 KING STEPHEN 

Vazul. — Your excellency, he that would rise at court, 
hath more need to learn the craft and mystery of silence than 
to know his letters. 

K. Stephen. — Would'st thou rise at court? 

Vazul. — Yes, sire, I love the life of a man that hath 
always money to spend, good dinners to eat, and fine 
raiment to wear. Gold soothes every sorrow. 

K. Stephen. — Well, thou hast been poor and knowest 
what the word means. 

Vazul. — Aye, uncle; he that hath kept company with 
poverty, wotteth how constant a spouse she is. She gets up 
with a man in the morning and lies down with him at 
night. She is by his side, fair weather and foul ; revel or 
wailing, and will no more be shaken off by a rough word, 
than a hard rider by a bad steed. 

K. Stephen. — Good, thou art the man I want ; be to me 
a son, Vazul, and thou shall't have no reason to rue thy 
apprenticeship. Learn to be what Emeric was. 

Vazul. — {Kneeling) Uncle, I swear not to abuse the trust 
thou hast honoured me with ; foolish I have been, but never 
have I broken the word of a noble, and that is now passed 
to thee, to stand by thy house, and seek honourably to fill 
poor Emeric's place. 

K. Stephen. — Eise, Vazul, I will trust fearlessly in thy 
honour. I have ever wished to deal lighter by thee than I 
did. (Vazul rises.) 

Enter an Officer of the Guard. 

Officer. — (Who kneels, and then rises) So please your 
excellency, two Jews, named Elisha and Aaron, were in your 
absence taken in the act of brawling within bowshot of the 
palace ; shall we take them before the lower chamber ? 

K. Stephen. — No, send them up to me. 



OF HUNGARY. 61 

Officer. — This ring, the cause of their quarrel, these 
papers, and this money were all found on them. (Places them 
on the table.) 

K. Stephen. — Lay by the money and ring, and give 
hither the papers. (The officer obeys) Now leave us for 
awhile. (The officer bows and leaves the room.) Vazul, knowest 
thou this Jew, Elisha ? 

Vazul. — (Aside, More than I like him.) Right well, sire ; 
he is a dirty cur, who looks as if he had been fried in his 
own fat and the grease had come thro' his gaberdine ; an old 
knave who had sworn his soul away ere this if he had a soul 
to lose. 

K. Stephen. — Tell me, Vazul, how would'st thou deal 
with these Jews ? 

Vazul. — Your excellency, I would not deal with them at 
all ; for he that holdeth much parley with a Jew, will soon 
learn to live in a kennel like a rat, hate fair daylight worse 
than an owl, and shun clean water as a cat doth. 

K Stephen. — Then what would'st thou do with them wer't 
thou king of Hungary ? 

Vazul. — Shave their beards, and take toll of their money- 
bags. Lastly, I would burn down their dirty nests, which 
nought but fire would sweeten. 

K. Stephen. — Why wouldst thou use them so roughly ? 

Vazul. — Because, sire, I like not to see fair ducats got by 
foul roguery, and honest dogs starve while curs run off with 
the dainties. 

K. Stephen. — Good. Thou will't have a sharp wit when 
thy feathers are grown : and now I pray thee see to the 
matters we spoke of. 

Vazul. — Trust me, sire, and 'till I bring good news, adieu. 
(Vazul leaves, and King Stephen takes up the papers?) 

K. Stephen. — A mortgage on a noble's lands ! "What 
means this ? Is treason always as sure to be a brewing about 



62 KING STEPHEN 

me as a thunderstorm in summer ? But here are they that 
have helped to conjure it up. 

{Enter Officer and two Guards with Elisha and Aaron. 

Elisha and Aaron. — {Both kneeling). Mercy, great 
king, for the poor Jew ! 

K. Stephen. — Ye knew the price of brawling in the 
palace grounds ; was your feud so fierce that ye cast away life 
to quell it ? 

Elisha and Aaron.— {Both.) Oh, king, this man wanted 
to rob me of ten ducats. 

K. Stephen. — What, then, 'twas for your vile gain ye 
risked your heads ? 

Elisha. — Mercy, sire ! 
K. Stephen. — Mercy; yea, such as ye have ever shown 

When bad days gave ye power. 

Ye that in the riot of your devilish lusts, 

Did rack each white-haired sire and feeble dame — 

Butchered their stalwart sons, defiled their daughters, 

Hacked off the infant's tender limbs before the eyes 

Of frantic mothers ; truly ye need mercy ; 

Ye who like slot-hounds for a scrap of gold 

Hunt down the sick, the widow and the orphan. 

Elisha. — But, sire, these times are past, we war not now ; 
the Jew is a good citizen. 
K. Stephen. — Truly ye war not, for the world's your foe ; 

Nor did ye war, ye ruthless butchers, when blind luck 

Favoured your devilish plots — ye murdered. 

Aaron. — Yea, sire ; but we honour the king, pay taxes, 
and increase the monies of the land. 

K. Stephen. — Ye pay, good sooth, because no choice is left 
ye; 

No other means to grind our reckless barons. 

Ye that ne'er sow, nor reap, nor spin ; 

Ye arid lands, whereon nor art nor science, 



OF HUNGARY. 63 

Learning or policy could e'er take root ; 

Think ye the whole human race would hate ye thus, 

Did not true instinct bid them shun such caitiffs ? 

Could aught, save crime, have cursed your gold so deeply, . 

That ye can no more hold it in your polluted grasp, 

Than the impalpable air or subtle quicksilver ? 

Elisha and Aaron. — {Both) Oh, spare my life, sire; 
'twas this man's doings. 

K. Stephen. — Let each man pay a hundred ducats to the 
poor and lie in prison for a year. Which of you is called 
Elisha ? 

Elisha. — I am the man, sire. 

K. Stephen. — For thee another doom remains {To the 
officer.) Leave us and bear the other Jew to prison. 
(Exeunt officers and guards with Aaron.) 

K. Stephen. — Jew, what means this document? Thou 
knowest 'tis forbid to alienate lands to one of thy house. 
Speak out or I will have thee broken on the wheel. Who 
was to sign this bond ? 

Elisha. — Forgive me, great king. 

K. Stephen. — Jew, I make no pact with him that breaketh 
the law. Speak, ere it is too late. 

Elisha. — Count Ernest, sire. 

K. Stephen. — Mind, if thou liest I will have thy tongue 
bored through with a red hot iron. 

Elisha. — Sire, I swear it. 

K. Stephen. — When dost thou pay that which is yet 
unpaid ? 

Elisha. — To night, at sunset. 

K. Stephen. — Now, listen; thou shan't pay this money, 
and I will send with thee one as thy servant. Breathe not a 
word of who he is. Thou understandest me, for a Jew is not 
a fool ; your wives whelp no idiots. Be true and I may remit 



64 KING STEPHEN 

somewhat of thy punishment (Bings, enter a guard.) Guard this 
Jew privily, sir, but harm him not. {Exeunt guard with Jew.) 
Now will 1 root up this treacherous work. Oh treason, have 
I ever said that he who cutteth thee down with the sword 
doth but carve one vile worm into twenty, to be undeceived 
at the last hour ? 

Exeunt. 



SCENE VI. 

A STREET IN" GRAN. ENTER ERNEST, DRESSED LIKE A SOLDIER 
AND MASKED, AND VAZT7L, FROM THE OPPOSITE SIDE. 

Vazul. — I must away and set the Lady Geraldine at ease. 
My royal uncle thinks he hath been a little too hasty, and 
that a year or two in one of his holy prisons will be enough 
to cure such a sharp young witch. But he is wrong ; nothing 
but losing her beauty would touch her rocky heart. 'Twould 
be a hot fit of passion that could thaw a breast colder than 
the Eisberg at Christmas. 

Ernest. — {Aside, Here is the spot ; now to trap the prey. 
Vazul turns partly round, and Ernest deliberately runs up 
against him.) 

Vazul. — {Striking him.) Thou rude clown, hast thou no 
better manners than to jostle a noble ? 

Ernest. — {Striking him again.) Be thou whom thou 
mayest, I have manners enough to show thee how a soldier 
returns a noble's blow. 

Vazul.— {Drawing.) Thy spirit is above thy seeminr 
station — draw. 



OF HUNGARY. 65 

Ernest. — Not now, I pray you ; 'tis near the palace ; 
name another place and hour. 

Vazul. — And if I do thee such honour will thy heart not 
fail thee ? 

Ernest. — As little as thy own ; but I draw not here. 
Meet me half-an-hour hence at the foot of the crags, a 
quarter of a league below the ferry. 

Vazul.— Enough ; I will be there. If thou comest I will 
hold thee for a true man, and if not for a boor and foul 
braggart. 

Exeunt separately. 



SCENE VII. 

A WALK BELOW GRAN, NEAR THE DANUBE. ENTER ERNEST, 
STILL MASKED. 

C. Ernest. — The light waneth fast, and this brawler 
cometh not. Hath his courage failed at the pinch, or hath 
my star sunk ? I would he were come and gone, so that 
I were rid of this butchery. 

{Enter Vazul in haste.) 

{Aside, So fate hath drawn him into the net.) Sir, the 
light is well-nigh gone. 

Vazul. — 'Twas not for fear of thee I stayed. 

C. Ernest. — Waste not your time with words, but draw. 

Vazul. — I know not if thou art a man, but thy manner is 
too strange and hasty to be mortal. 

F 



DO KING STEPHEN 

C. Ernest. — Make an end to your prating, most noble 
knight. The sun is well-nigh behind the mountain. 

(Three bravoes appear in the background, partly concealed by 
the trees J) 

Vaztjl. — Now heaven send me skill to rid the body cor- 
porate of soldiers of such a ruffian; this time triumph for 
victory will not be marred by regret at having shed blood. 
(He draws, Ernest and the three bravoes rush upon him.) Ha, 
treachery ? (Strikes down one of the bravoes, the others over- 
power him.) 

Ernest. — (To one of the bravoes.) Quick, man ; leave thy 
fellow there ; the cold night wind will freeze up the current 
of life, and save him from too much bleeding. 

Vazul. — If thou wantest my life, why dost thou not 
take it ? 

Ernest. — Nay, thou shall't live, Vazul ; Gisela will but 
have thy eyes put out, and thy ears stopped with hot lead to 
hinder thee from hearing bad morality. 

Vazul. — Man, can'st thou play such a devil's part ? 

Ernest. — Aye, I can, when the devil bids me. 

Vazul. — Then to thy last hour may Vazul's curse blight 
every hope of heaven. 

Ernest. — Well, I must choose another scene of action 
then ( To the two bravoes.) Away with him, men. (Exeunt?) 

(A noise of shouting heard outside. Enter two watchmen, with 

torches.) 

First Watchman. — This way, I tell thee; hold thy torch 
lower ; dost thou want to see the moon before she's out o' 
bed, or to stare at the owls ? 

Second Watchman. — (Holds his torch against the other's 
nose.) There, I didn't mean to spoil thy handsome nose by 
looking at an owl. 

First Watchman. — Mind if thou does that again l's sus- 



OF HUNGARY. 67 

ceptible to knock thy head again that tree, even if Ps took 
up for damaging the woods. 

Second Watchman. — Well, come along ; thou doesn't 
want to look at the bottom of the stream. 'Twas on this 
side I heard the clapping of swords ; I'll wager 'twas a 
robber murdering honest Christians. 

First Watchman. — Well, never mind, we've the law on 
our side, haven't us ? Thou's going the wrong way ; the 
sound couldn't come from the bottom of the river, or round a 
corner. 

Second Watchman. — And why not, when thou canst see 
round a corner with that crooked eye of thine ? Come 
along. 

First Watchman. — I tell thee I won't. Nobody but a 
ghost could fight on that side. The path's not wide enough 
for a goat to stand on, and as steep as a house roof. 

Second Watchman. — Well, but a ghost could'nt fight 
up to his armpits in water for fear o' melting. But go thy 
ways ; I'll get the ten ducats for finding out murder {Exit to R). 

First Watchman. — Thou means for finding the mur- 
derer ; but I'll put a hook in thy nose. {Exit to L.) 

Second Watchman. — {To JR. behind scenes .) Help ! rescue, 
good people. {Enters, dripping tcet.) 

First Watchman. — {To L. behind scenes.) Haste! save 
me ; assistance, gentlemen. (Enters, covered icith mud.) 

Second Watchman. — Oh, good lord, this is comfortable 
on a cold night ; curse thee for a fool, why did'st thou not 
say the rain had washed the path away ? But for the bushes 
that scratched half the skin off my back, I'd have been buried 
under water like a drowned fish. 

First Watchman. — Heh ! heh ! why thou shakes as if thou 
had the ague, and had been trying a cold bath to cure it. 

f2 



68 KING STEPHEN 

Second Watchman. — Heh, heh, {Imitating tie other.) 
Here give us thy torch, and don't stand snorting like a horse. 
(First Watchman gives his torch, the other tries to light his at it 
and puts it out.) 

First Watchman. — Now, jolterhead, thou's done it. If 
there were only light enough, I'd knock the brains out of thy 
thick head. (Buns up against a tree.) There, I've broken my 
nose, thou clown. 

Second Watchman. — Softly, friend, or I'll bang thy 
hide 'till its as sore as a boil and as soft as butter. (Strikes at 
him with the torch.) 

First Watchman. — A word and a blow, and the blow 
first. (Strikes again. They rush wildly at each other, and both 
fall over the bravo.) 

Bravo.— Oh ! 

Both. — Here's the murderer. 

Second Watchman. — Lift him up, and see if he's alive. 
(Lifts him up by the hair of his head.) 

Bravo. — Mercy, sir. (The watchman lets him drop.) 

Both. — (Scrambling to their feet.) Murder! Thieves! 
(They rush off.) 

Bravo. — Murder, indeed, or worse. Did that infernal clatter 
mean that I have gone to glean the just meed of my ill deeds, 
or that I'm still alive to mend my life in this world ? (Enter 
an Officer of the Guard with two soldiers. The watchmen follow at 
a distanced) 

Officer. — Is't here ye left the man ye were afraid of? 
(The two watchmen wink, nod, and point to the bravo.) 
(To the Soldiers) Hold your torches down; these brawling 
idiots have seen a dead ass or heard a screech owl. But 
sure enough here is something in human shape. What ails 
thee, friend ? 



OF HUNGARY. 69 

Bravo. — That which thou can'st not cure. Take me to 
king Stephen, and I will tell him what he will quake to hear. 

Officer. — "Well he hears each man for himself, so thou 
shan't go before him in the morning {To the soldiers). Bear 
him away. 



Exeunt, 



EJO) OF ACT IV. 



70 KING STEPHEN 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. 

A ROOM IN THE CASTLE OF ANDREAS AT BUDA. ENTER ANDREAS, 
PRINCESS BERTHA RUSHES IN FROM THE OPPOSITE SIDE. 

P. Bertha. — Oh Andreas, my child, my child is gone. 

Andreas. — Geraldine gone ? 
P. Bertha. — Aye, great chief, thv promised bride 

Is torn from these arms to serve the Christians' god. 
Andreas. — What meanest thou, princess, by these hot 

words ? 
P. Bertha. — That she who was to share thy bed 

Sleeps now within a cell, if sleep do visit her ; 

Caged midst the herd of the fanatic luckless souls 

Who people convents. 

Andreas. — Geraldine in a convent? 

P. Bertha. — Such is her lot, unless thou avail to save her, 

There must she live, if that be life indeed. 

Those beauteous hands must now do drudge's toil, 

And her fair back feel the rude convent scourge ; 

While she, a daughter of the house of Simegh, 

Must learn to wean her voice from joyous song, 

To the frigid harmony of matin hyms. 

Oh, Geraldine ! my child ! my child ! 
Andreas. — Hath Stephen dared to do this ? 



OF HUNGARY. 71 

P. Bertha. — And who else but the sainted Stephen would 
have dared? 

Andreas. — Then, by heaven, will I have vengeance. 

P. Bertha. — Swear that, Andreas, by our ancient gods. 

Andreas. — (JRaises his arm and strikes it with his dagger. 
Then holding the dagger up) 

I swear unto thee by the great god of the Sun ; 
And by his subject elements ; the sacred fire ; 
The solid earth, and ever shifting waters ; 
The unseen winds that yet do see all things ; 
To right thy wrong. 
Bertha. — Then hasten, for there's not an hour to lose. 

'Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 

A ROOM IN KING STEPHEN'S PALACE. KING STEPHEN 
ASLEEP ON A COTTCH. 

{Enter Ernest, Disguised as a Soldier?) 

C Ernest. — That woman's taunts still drive me to this deed. 

Before me lies the man who ever loved me 

Like a brother, and I would slay him now 

For a she-wolfs graces ; yet must I do it ; 

For guiltier than I am I cannot be, 

Or deeper misery taste. {Drawing his dagger.) 

Now for as black a deed, 

As ever crime did coin a reason for. 
K. Stephen. — (Softly in his sleep) Vazul. 



72 KING STEPHEN 

C. Ernest. — Oh God ! that word hath struck me to the heart ; 

For heavier than the huge Carpathians press on earth, 

Doth Vazul's curse weigh on this unnerved arm ; 

Nor could the deepest roar of the wild thunder, 

Silence the groans of his soul's agony, when the bubbling 
lead 

Hissed in his ears. 

Lie there, accursed tempter. {TJirows down the dagger.) 

There's been enough of guilt ; 'tis ended now. 

What ho, there, sire; arouse thee, king; 

Treason is at thy side. {Enter an Officer and two Guards.) 
K. Stephen. — Who art thou that speakest in so strange a 

guise, and so lordly a tone ? 
C. Ernest. — {Tearing off Ms disguise.) 

The vilest knight that ever monarch trusted, 

Or soldier followed to the field of war. 

Now lead me to the block. 
K. Stf.phen. — Thou Ernest ! Who sent thee hither to this 

guilty deed ? 
Ernest. — My guilty soul. 

K. Stephen. — Not that alone; thou was't not born a 
plotter, 

Though brave enough upon the battle field. 

Go, I forgive thee ; thy own thoughts be thy doom. 
C. Ernest. — I am severed from this world, as tho' I lay 

Already in the tomb. 

As the last favour I shall ever ask, 

I pray thee let the headsman do his work. 
K. Stephen. — Nay, get thee from my sight ; 

For memory of old times I will not harm thee. 

As a boy I played, and wept, and quarrelled with thee ; 

We went thro' childhood's valley hand in hand ; 

Ttode side by side to the hot battle-field ; 



OF HUNGARY. 73 

We sat like brothers at the council board and banquet ; 

Even thy treason I forgave, and thou dost seek 

To shorten the few hours of life that heaven hath left me. 

C. Ernest. — Break me on the wheel, Stephen, but spare 

me thy words. Oh God ! (Sivoons.J 

{King Stephen signs to them to bear Ernest away, and Exit.) 



SCENE III. 

A ROOM IN THE CASTLE OF ANDREAS. ENTER BERTHA WITH A 
LETTER IN HER HAND. 

P. Bertha. — Bad news indeed thou sendest; the more need 
then, 
To rouse each slothful, doubting chief to duty, 
And head the van of strife for life or death. 

Enter Ernest. 
My Ernest, what means this craven style of speech ? 
Thou hast failed, but thou art not so young, 
That thy good fortune never yet hath jilted thee. 
C. Ernest. — Speak not of fortune to a reckless man, 
That hateth less his foes than his vile self. 
Tell me, Bertha, how would'st thou serve a traitor ? 
P. Bertha. — Strike off his head, and leave his useless 
carcase 
To the wolves, for want of better grave diggers 
To inter it. 
C. Ernest. — And yet hath Stephen spared this traitor's 
head, 



74 



KTNG STEPHEN 



Took not a rood of land ; an ounce of gold ; 

But sent me forth unharmed ; me a traitor, 

Shunned by my peers ; a brand upon my house ! 
P. Bertha. — Art thou turned monk, man, or hath duke 
Stephen 

Shriven and confessed thee ? Out on thy sickly fears, 

Let us to horse, and die as the Magyar should. 
C. Ernest. — Say rather flee, while there is yet time ; Ester- 
hazy is on thy traces. Save thy life, for I seek not to preserve 
mine. 
P. Bertha. — Go, 

Haste thee to a priory. Turn shaveling, Ernest ; 

Then can'st thou shrive the sick and tend the poor ; 

Pray, fast, and pine, like a true monk ; 

For thou art fitted now for little else. 
C. Ernest. — And that were better than do as I have done. 
P. Bertha. — Stay, I have still a happier thought. 

By the lone Balaton lake there is a hut, 

Where some time since a Christian maniac dwelt ; 

The peasants called him saint, wise men a knave ; 

Go thou and fill his place ; with sickening gaze, 

Watch the rude boors snaring the stupid fish : 

Or stretched upon thy wretched pallet, hear 

The hoarse bittern's cry boom o'er the reedy lake ; 

And think for such a lot a crown was lost. 

Go, for I would not chide thee further. 
Ernest. — Fare veil (Exit). 
Bertha. — And is it thus we part ? Is it for this 

That I risked wealth and titles, ease and safety ? 
Enter Count Esterhazy with Four Soldiers. 

C. Esterhazy. — Princess, I do arrest thee for the crime 
of treason. 

P. Bertha.— Beware, count, I claim the noble's rights. 



OF HUNGARY. 75 

C. Esterhazy. — I mean no rudeness ; yield, lady, and 
you shall have such tending as beseems a noble ; the king 
seeks not your life, but that you shall remove as soon as 
may be to Gran, there to live a state prisoner till further 
measures be taken. 

P. Bertha. — And doth thy valiant master fear an un- 
armed women in her last retreat ? 

C. Esterhazv. — As little as he doth such missiles as you 
purchased for his poor son. Start not lady, all is known to us. 

P. Bertha. — {Cahnly) 'Tis enough, Sir; I beseech you 
leave me a few minutes ; I will not put your patience to the 
proof. 

C- Esterhazy. — Madam, in all that is befitting your 
rank, I will not fail. (ExH with soldier*.) 
P. Bertha. — God of the Magyars leave thy throne awhile ; 

Arm thee 'gainst earth ; send loud-mouthed, riotous war, 

To scour the prisons of the mutinous damn'd, 

And fill his ghastly squadrons with those rebels, 

Of which e'en hell would purge itself. 

Thou staring famine in thy tattered robes ; 

Ye plagues, that steal by night like skulking thieves, 

To each doomed threshold ; 

Crowd on their heels and chr nge the Christians' triumph 

To the loud wail of those who mourn for slaughtered 
men. 

For me remains but this, {Putting her hand upon her dagger?) 

The last, best antidote to earthly ills. 

Come from thy hiding-place, thou trustiest friend, {Drawing 
her dagger) 

Of those who quail beneath the victor's arm ; 

One blow from thy keen point, and Bertha's race 

Is closed, with this sad epilogue. 

{Stabs herself and falls dead.) 



76 KING STEPHEN 



SCENE IV. 

THE GATEHOUSE IN THE ROYAL CASTLE AT GRAN. A WARDER 
BEFORE THE PEISON DOOE. ENTEE AN OFFICEE. 

Officer. — Thou hast two Jews here, warder ? 

Warder. — I have, sir, and would be better pleased not to 
have them. 

Officer. — Why ? 

Warden. — Because, sir, they are the dirtiest, sauciest, 
greediest pair of hounds that ever needed the whip. They 
have cheated every thief put into their kennel, and would 
skin a flea for his hide and tallow. 

Officer. — Then their quarters will smell all the better 
when they are gone. The king's orders are to set them 
free ; so send them across the frontier, and they will do our 
old enemies more harm than all the wars they ever brewed. 
{Exit Officer?) 

Warder. — If I could but clean out their money-bags, 
they might go to the devil their own way. {Exit.) 



SCENE V. 

PRIORY OF SAINT ADALBERT. THE PRIOR ON THE STEPS OF THE 
PORTAL. ENTER ERNEST, ADVANCING SLOWLY TOWARDS HIM. 

Ernest. — Peace on this holy spot, if meek-eyed peace, 
Like a tired dove can fold her angel wings, 
And lay her down beneath the self-same roof, 
That shelters from the world this guilty head. 

Prior. — Whate'er thy crimes, rank, name or country, 
Enter and fear not. 



OF HUNGARY. 



77 



If wearied with vain triumphs and stale joys, 

Tales of man's fraud and selfishness, or woman's frailty ; 

Or if, mayhap, 

Some hopeless woe hath chased thee from thy home, 

Then moor thy shattered bark in this calm haven. 
C. Ernest. — Father, I was rich, powerful, and honoured ; 

And now I come to thee a friendless man ; 

One loaded with such crimes, that lands and titles 

Are left to the first plunderer who may spoil them. 

My vassals seek another heritage ; 

The lean-winged bat, that loveth desolate haunts, 

Hangs from the brave old roof-tree, beneath whose cope, 

Great knights have feasted. 

I am a felon whose attainted clay, 

No chief shall follow to the trophied tomb. 
Prior. — My son, forget such petty trifles for that banquet, 

Where peer and peasant dine on equal terms. 
C. Ernest. — Aye, but how forget the hideous treason, 

That made me forfeit these ? 
Pr [or. — Let brother judge not brother ; few are they 

That sink into the grave without a crime. 

Doff then thy warrior's garb, and thy proud name ; 

Give to the poor thy useless gold and lands ; 

A meagre price for the rich heritage of peace. 
C. Ernest. — Peace, father ? I tell thee, 

Vengeance hath set his slot-hounds on my track; 

And there is one with seared and blighted eye-balls, 

That heads the chase. For peace I hope not ; 

But lay that vision for the few sad hours 

That now remain. 

Prior. — (Descends, takes him by the arm, and leads him up 
the stej)s.) 

Nay, my son ; thy daily toil and prayer ; 

The blessed quiet of our holy life, 



78 KING STEPHEN 

Will bring thee peace, as surely as the toil of day, 

Doth bring the dreamy stillness of the ni^ht. 

Should e'en these fail, the hour must come at last, 

When he who conquered in the race of life, 

Lies down by him he vanquished in the strife. {Exeunt.) 



SCENE VI. 

A STEEET IN GEAN. ENTEE COUNTS BATTHTANT AND 
ESTEBHAZY, MEETING. 

C. Batthyany. — Good morrow, noble Esterhazy, what 
news of our royal master ? 

C. Esterhazy. — The worst that I could tell. The king 
fadeth faster with each waning moon. 

C. Batthyany. — Alas ! I feared as much. Hath he 
appointed his successor ? 

C. Esterhazy. — Aye, sir ; Gisela's son is to follow him. 

C. Batthyany. — And sow strife broadcast. What news 
of our late disturbers ? 

C. Esterhazy. — Andreas and Bela are fled, and Ernest 
hath died in the most horrible torments. The monks feared 
to go nigh his cell, and he raved out his last hours like a 
despairing fiend. 

C. Batthyany. — And well did he merit his doom. But 
who is this in such haste ? {Enter an Officer.) 

Officer. — Sirs, I am pleased to have met you so soon. The 
king desireth your presence most urgently; he is much 
worse. 

C. Esterhazy. — Sir, we will not keep you ; tell the king 
we come instantly (Exit Officer). Batthyany, if nought 
detain thee let us go at once. 

C. Batthyany. — Esterhazy, nought shall detain me. 
(Exeunt.) 



OF HUNGARY. 79 



SCENE VII. 



KING STEPHEN S PALACE AT GRAN. KING STEPHEN IN HIS CHAIR 

OF STATE ; COUNTS ESTERHAZY AND BATTHYANY ; THE PRIMATE 

OF HUNGARY, OFFICERS, GUARDS, &C. 

K. Stephen. — Nay press me not, Batthyany ; my last act 
shall be one of peace. Andreas and Bela, thou sayest, are 
fled. 

C. Batthyany. — Yea, sire, guilt hath made them glad to 
trust their horses rather than their consciences. 
K. Stephen. — So be it. My faithful friends I pray you, 

See that the son of Gisela wear this crown, 

As a true Magyar. To thee, prelate (To the primate), 

I do commit the charge (Giving him the crown), 
C. Esterhazy. — Sire, in the names of all my peers I vow, 

To do thy bidding like a faithful subject. 
K. Stephen. — Farewell to royal state ; 

And may that power, who is to our weak strength, 

As the strong oak unto the humble flower 

That nestles at its root, approve my choice. 

Oh, Emeric ! Vazul ! I come to join you now. 

Primate. — Sire, your son bore to the grave the prayers 
and tears of every Christian. Be comforted, I pray you. 

C. Esterhazy. — (He is going fast, brave Batthyany; his 
voice falters, and I see in his look that which foretells the 
approach of death.) 

K. Stephen. — And thinkest thou the weak arm of worldly 
comfort, 

Which scarce can dry the changeful infant's tears, 

Avails to stem the full-grown stream of sorrow ? 

Old Esterhazy, let me cling to thee for a few moments, 

Ere my soul float away before that breeze, 

WHoh heaven doth send to winnow the pure spirit 



80 KING STEPHEN 

From the frail chaff of earth. 

There is a gloom in the air ; open the casement, sirs, 

Let me look once more upon the noble Danube. 

(TJiey open the casement.) 

Oh, Hungary! thou home of chivalry and beauty, 

May a king's blessing shield thee from all ills. 

My son ! my Emeric ! my boy ! I come ! (Dies.) 
C. Esterhazy. — 'Tis ended now. Batthyany, 

See that they bear him forthwith to his chamber ; 

There let your precious burthen rest, till all due means 

Are ta'en that it be given to earth's firm custody, 

"With fitting honours. 

C. Batthyany. — Aye, if there be men who can devise such 
honours ; 

For who, great king, 

Shall fitly chronicle thy lofty deeds ? 

Thy worth, thy wisdom, and thy piety ; 

Thy generous heart, which not even Gisela's treachery, 

Could rouse to vengeance ? 

And ne'er since the first Magyars dwelt in tents, 

'Midst Asia's wilds, hath such a chieftain ruled. 

Weep, Hungary, for woe hath broke that noble heart, 

And Stephen's friends must now from Stephen part ; 

To meet no more till meet the good and brave, 

In those bright lands that lie beyond the grave. 

Curtain Falls. 



THE END. 



London : Printed by W. & J. Me Micken, 19, Fenchurch Street. 







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